The Streets of London
by Sid Mc
Summary: The hunt for a ruthless killer unites ambitious young police officers in 1990s London. AU. (Previously published.)
1. Prologue

_(A very young Sid's first attempt at a detective story. More successful in some parts than others, I know, but it was great fun to write.)_

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I_ was unable to verify if there really is such a division as the Area Major Incident Team within the London Metropolitan Police Force. There may be, although I believe this specific group is the creation of author Lynda LaPlante, who wrote the fantastic BBC series 'Prime Suspect'. However, I don't know for certain. I am only borrowing the AMIT for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement is intended. Only the basic premise of AMIT's function has been used here; all other situations and characters (apart from those from _The Young Riders_) are my own creation._

_While I did research the NYPD-and all attempts at accuracy were made-creative license has_ definitely_ been taken._

**Prologue**

_A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown  
of rags and silks, a costume  
Fit for one who sits and cries  
for all tomorrow's parties_

"All Tomorrow's Parties" - the Velvet Underground

* * *

_T_he party was drawing to a close when the screams of Helena Claussen filled the air. People were mingling at the door, grabbing hats and coats and gloves, taking last sips of the delicious champagne, exchanging air kisses and plans to meet soon. The air was filled with expensive perfume and the smell of drink, empty promises clinging to hollow affectations of social etiquette. Thomas Claussen was bidding farewell to his departing guests. He had forgotten all about his wife until he heard her piercing screams: the screams of a terrified woman. Every crevice, every room, every wall of the London townhouse echoed with those screams.

Afterward, everyone would joke that they had known immediately that Helena Claussen would never scream like that for anything but her jewellery, but the truth was that everyone present suddenly stopped, their hearts gripped with fear, their ears ringing with the reverberation of Helena's horrified shrieks. Thomas seemed frozen, rooted to the floor, his grey eyes wide with fear.

Then someone whispered, "Helena… That was Helena."

That seemed to jar Thomas a bit. He rushed forward, dashing down the long hallway and up the winding staircase. Julian Westward and Oliver Christian followed him. People watched from below as the three men raced up the stairs in their designer suits, their perfectly-coiffed hair flying in every direction.

Upstairs, Thomas had thrown open the door of the bedroom he shared with his wife—a room fairly the size of a rugby field. His eyes searched the room, looking for his wife in the shadows. Behind him, Julian switched the light on.

Helena was standing at her vanity, staring down at her hands. They held a large, heavy wooden jewellery box with gold inlay, and they trembled. Her mouth was hanging open and Oliver briefly noted that it was a rather unattractive expression on such a lovely woman.

Seeing that she was unharmed, relief flooded through Thomas. He ran to his wife, seizing her by the arms, causing the jewellery box to fall, the small shelves and drawers cascading to the floor. "Helena, what the devil's the matter?" he demanded.

Helena raised her hand to her mouth. "My…my…" she seemed unable to go on. She stopped and swallowed hard. She pointed to where the box lay. "My jewellery, Thomas! My jewellery!"

Thomas grasped her harder, shaking her. "Good God, woman, is that all? I thought at the very least you were being drawn and quartered!"

Helena looked at him, aghast at his ignorance of the weight of the matter. Julian and Oliver looked at each other and shrugged rather smugly at the frailty of a woman. "But Thomas," she protested feebly, "all my beautiful jewellery! My rubies and my diamonds, and that lovely big pearl you brought me back from Hawaii…" Her voice trailed off and she moaned pitifully.

Thomas only shook her again. "Forget the ruddy jewellery, Helena! You scared me out of my mind! I thought something had happened to you!" Unwilling to let his friends see his tears, Thomas pulled his wife against him and hugged her close. "Stupid woman," he murmured affectionately into her hair. "I'll get you more jewellery."

It was then that he saw the blood. And it was then that Julian found the body in the walk-in closet.

* * *

_"I_ don't think I heard you right. Did you say England?"

Chief Aloysius 'Teaspoon' Hunter lifted his broad-brimmed hat from his head and nodded. He shrugged, indicating he was as surprised as the next person. Sergeant William Cody, who had asked the question, scratched his bright blond head and gazed at the older man, baffled.

"I did," Teaspoon acknowledged.

"What the hell for?"

Teaspoon sighed. "Always got the twenty questions, don't you, Cody." It wasn't a question.

Cody waited expectantly for an answer. Next to him, James Hickok, his weathered and weary lieutenant, reached out and tapped him on the back of the head. Hard. "I imagine if you wait long enough," he hissed, "you'll get an answer, Cody."

Cody was indignant. "I'm waiting!"

The door burst open and banged shut a moment later behind the small yet impressive form of Louise McCloud. She rushed in, her brown hair streaming behind her. She grinned sheepishly at the gathered men and smoothed down her black slacks.

"Well, Lieutenant, glad you decided to join us," drawled Teaspoon.

"Sorry, Teaspoon. Bad traffic down Fifth Avenue."

"Uh-huh." Teaspoon managed to make that one grunt sound disbelieving. "Now that you're here, Louise, I suppose we'll have to fill you in on the conversation."

"They're sending us to England!" Cody interjected with dismay.

Louise looked suitably startled. "England?" she echoed.

Teaspoon rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Why does everyone feel the need to repeat the name of the country? Were you not aware it existed before I mentioned it today?"

"Chief," Jimmy broke in, sensing this rant could go on for a while. "Why don't you just start from the beginning? We're listening."

As if on cue, a loud snore emitted from Buck to negate Jimmy's statement. Buck was at the head of the table opposite Teaspoon, his feet propped up on the seat beside him. His head hung over the back of the chair, his eyes closed, his mouth open. He snored again.

Teaspoon sighed. "Somebody wake that boy up." He turned to Cody. "You got Buck performing your sleeping duties for you, Cody? It's usually you I have to wake up during a meeting."

Cody grinned. "The man's tired, Teaspoon. He had a hard night."

"You mean a wild night," Louise said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She socked Buck in the arm, hard enough that he jolted awake. As he stared at them all, his eyes slowly focusing again, she added, "The guys thought it would be nice to go out to the clubs last night, Teaspoon, and I'm afraid Buck's a little worse for the wear."

"Sergeant Cross," barked Teaspoon, watching as Buck quickly jumped to attention, his feet clattering to the floor. "I truly regret having to disturb your beauty rest, but if you would be so kind as to join us, the subject may be of some interest to you."

His cool sarcasm filled the room. Everyone quieted. Buck's eyes cleared and even Cody seemed to be paying attention.

Teaspoon leaned forward over the table, folding his hands together. He looked each officer in the eye in turn, fixing them with his steely gaze. He began to speak as if the previous ten minutes had never happened, in a voice that spoke of rehearsed professionalism. "Congratulations to the four of you. You have been chosen to represent the NYPD in a program that's been formed in agreement with the NYPD's Special Task Force and the London Metropolitan Police Force's Area Major Incident Team." He sounded as if he were giving a speech. His words were precise and weighty. "Any questions?"

"Ah yeah, we got questions," answered Cody. "What's this program, Teaspoon? What this Major Incident Area Team or whatever the hell it's called? And why us?"

Teaspoon held up his hand to ward off a further tirade of questions. "One question at a time, Cody. First of all, the program—it's a new deal in accordance with the NYPD and the LMPF. Two big-wigs, one from each side of the pond, got together and decided it would be loads of fun to send some officers from each country over to work with the other."

"Why?" Lou asked in confusion.

"Hell, I don't know. The official word is that it's for study. Apparently our fella thinks we could learn a thing or two from them, and their fella thinks they could learn a thing or two from us. It's all politics, people, that's all it is. Call it study, call it a program, call it what you will; it's all politics. We're trying to make nice with England and they're trying to make nice with us."

"I don't know, Teaspoon," Lou said slowly, mulling it over. "It sounds interesting to me."

Teaspoon ignored her. "Second question—the Area Major Incident Team and what it is. It's like this: the LMPF is divided into two fields, Vice and Homicide; vice being drug trafficking, prostitution, burglary, what have you, and homicide being murder, of course. Basically, anything that isn't homicide they consider vice. And for the most part their officers—uniformed and plain-clothes—are divided among the two. That's where the AMIT comes in: they do both. They're highly trained officers specialising in Vice _and_ Homicide. They're an elite group of folks. Much as I don't particularly like the idea of this program, I have to admit I'm intrigued about working with them.

"Basically, what they are is a bunch of roving police officers. They go where they're needed most, instead of being based in one specific station. They're sort of our British equivalent. I don't know the specifics, but that's what I've been told."

Everyone was silent, letting this information sink in. Jimmy looked thoughtful; Lou was beginning to look almost excited.

"Third question," Teaspoon continued. "Why you? Well, I'll tell you why: you're four of our best. Which is not to take away from the officers remaining here. Don't go thinking this was a popularity contest, because it wasn't. There's officers remaining here just as good and trustworthy and reliable as you are, but you four have been chosen to go. They've asked me to choose from among my best, and that's what I've done. Nothing more, nothing less."

"We understand you, Teaspoon," Buck assured him.

Teaspoon nodded his thanks. "And lastly—does this mean you go to England? Hell, yes it means you go to England. This is an exchange, folks, that's how it works. We've got four AMIT officers coming to New York to take your places while you're gone."

"Which brings up another question," Jimmy said. "How long are we supposed to be gone?"

Teaspoon cleared his throat. "Ah...six months."

"Six months!" Cody exploded.

"I'm not thrilled with it, either, Cody. But I don't make the decisions around here!"

Lou asked when they were to leave.

"Jimmy leaves Monday evening, at which time," Teaspoon paused to consult the sheet of paper before him, "…at which time, Detective Inspector Luke Hastings will join us. Louise, you're leaving that Friday, at which time Detective Sergeant Nicholas Taylor will join us. Cody and Buck, you're on a plane the following Wednesday, and by then we'll have Detective Constable Tristan Fields and Detective Inspector Gary Lillard here in New York."

"What's all this 'Constable' and 'Inspector' jazz?" inquired Cody.

"They're rankings, you idiot," sighed Lou, wondering why she still found herself amazed at Cody's ignorance.

"Well how would I know? Like I've ever been to England!"

Jimmy chuckled. "You're going to have to learn to adjust, Cody. It's a whole new world over there."

"He'll adjust," Teaspoon said firmly. "I know he will. He's a good police officer and a good police officer can always adjust to change. That's part of the reason he was chosen."

Suddenly Teaspoon's pager went off at his waist, the loud, insistent beeping filling the small room. Teaspoon checked the numeric message as he rose from the table. "Well, folks, looks like this meeting's gonna be cut short. We'll try and meet up later on so I can fill you in on the details."

The four younger officers rose also, and waited. Teaspoon seemed about to say something else. He shook his head and walked to the door, opening it. He stopped and turned around. When he spoke, his voice was strained with emotion.

"I know you'll make me proud."


	2. Chapter 1

**Note**_: This story was written over a decade ago - whoo Lawd, that was a long time ago - and takes place then, just in case you find yourself wondering why everyone's using pagers and not checking Facebook in their spare time._

**Chapter One**

_London calling to the faraway towns_

_Now that war is declared and battle come down_

_London calling to the underworld_

_Come out of your cupboards, all you boys and girls_

"London Calling" – the Clash

* * *

_W_hen Detective Inspector Anna Kenworthy breezed through the doors of the Ladbroke Grove Incident Room, she was immediately inundated with the sound of telephones ringing, fax machines buzzing, and at least fifteen different voices speaking at fifteen different decibel levels. None of it helped her rapidly progressing headache.

Chief Superintendent Alcott passed her on his way out. "You're late," he growled as he walked by, his low voice unusually hard. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and did not stop. "Don't be late again, Inspector, it doesn't reflect well on you." He walked through the doors, his voice trailing behind him.

The headache surging harshly through her tired brain, Nan pulled a disgusted face at his retreating back.

"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, did you, Nan?" asked a voice at her side.

Nan turned to find the bright blue eyes of Inspector Andrew Kidwell beaming down at her, his wide grin at a crooked angle. He regarded her with amusement.

She grinned back. "Alcott's such a pompous git." She imitated the older man's clipped, polished accent and subdued baritone, "'Don't be late again, Inspector, it doesn't reflect well on you.'"

"Well, you are nearly an hour late, Nan."

"You're so bloody _fair_ all the time, Kid. If I had your conscience I'd go mad. Don't you ever just want to say something nasty? Even once in a while?"

Kid smiled again and shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not bothered. It doesn't do anyone any good, and it could do a lot of harm. Besides, I happen to know for a fact you think pretty highly of old Alcott."

"He's all right, I suppose," Nan grumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

Kid just laughed, ignoring her sullen attitude, as he had so often before and would no doubt be forced to again. "What's the matter with you this time? You look hung-over. Up all night knocking back the pints?"

"No." Nan sighed and rubbed at her temples. "Up all night searching for Paulie."

The smile faded from Kid's face and he looked concerned. "Didn't come home again?"

"Nope. Granddad was out of his mind with worry. He rang me at—"

"Oi! Kenworthy!" Noah Dixon's voice rang from the opposite corner of the room. "Look busy; here comes the boss!"

The warning came too late. No sooner had Noah spoken than Emma Shannon pushed through the double doors of the Incident Room, looking every inch the Superintendent. Her sharp eyes fell immediately on Nan. "I'm pleased you've decided to grace us with your presence, Inspector. Superintendent Alcott tells me we were nearly deprived of your company for the day."

Nan flushed, the colour rising high on her pale face. "Sorry, guv," she mumbled, eyes on the ground. Her head was pounding harder.

"Just don't make a habit of it, Kenworthy, please." Emma's voice was almost pleading. "It's the third time this week."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't hang your head and call me 'ma'am.' You know I hate that. Call me 'boss' or call me 'guv.' 'Ma'am' makes me feel like somebody's grandmother." Noting Nan's dejected face Emma touched her lightly on the arm. "Chin up, Nan, all right? Let's get this show on the road."

"Yes, okay." Nan felt Kid's warm hand at the small of her back, a reassuring gesture.

"All right, folks!" Emma's voice was forceful and loud and somehow managed to be heard over all the persistent sounds filling the room. Those who were on the phone listened with half an ear; those who were not quickly bolted to attention. "I'm going to wait till everyone's free," she said, "and then the bloody phones can ring their heads off."

An appreciative snicker spread throughout the assembled men and women. The room was small and everyone stood pretty much elbow to elbow. At last Emma had everyone's attention.

She held her hands in the air and gestured for absolute silence. Despite her slim stature, she was an impressive form as she stood at the front of the room and addressed them. Something about her presence commanded attention. Her mass of curly red hair was not entirely subdued in its careful braid, giving her the appearance of a rather free-spirited urchin, but her tailored trouser suit showed she was all business.

"Welcome and good morning!" she greeted them. "For those of you who don't know who I am or why I'm standing up here—which would pretty much be anyone from Ladbroke Grove—I'll introduce myself: I'm Detective Superintendent Shannon. Without patting myself on the back, I'm fairly sure most of you will recognise my name—police circles are small and I'm one of only four female Superintendents in the whole of the Met." She shrugged. "As you are likely aware, I work with the Area Major Incident Team; they're the other strangers you see gathered here today whom I'll introduce in a moment.

"This is our first day at Ladbroke Grove; we've spent the previous six weeks working a case in Southampton Row, so please understand why we'll look a bit dazed and confused from time to time. This place is new to us and we'll need time to get our bearings. Having said that, I'm sure you are all aware of why AMIT's been called to Ladbroke Grove: the murders of Robert Campbell and Ethan Cutler, as well as the taking of rare and precious jewellery totalling a value of over £900,000." Emma strode to the corner of the room where three enormous white wash-and-erase boards were hanging on the wall. Maps of the areas were taped there, as well as photos of the murder victims and the jewellery that had been stolen. She tapped each picture by turn.

"This is why my team is here, ladies and gentlemen. However much you may resent us, we are here because we have been summoned and because we have a job to do and we are dedicated to doing that job." She eyed the unfamiliar faces, steely resolve on her features. She was well aware of the bitter resentment that came about when her team was sent to a new station, and she was damn sure going to let them know she wouldn't be standing for it. "I realise this is your station and your territory, and each and every one of you is probably thinking, 'What the hell do we need AMIT for? We can bloody well take care of this,' but we're not the ones who decide where we go. That decision is made by higher powers. The sooner you understand that, the better off we'll all be. We need your full co-operation and support. As a team. Not as AMIT versus Ladbroke Grove. Anyone who doesn't like it can feel free to apply to Alcott for a transfer. Otherwise we'll say no more about it."

Emma gestured for her team to gather around her. As she introduced them, each officer stepped forward, "Inspector Noah Dixon; Constable Jason Albarn; Constable Alan Emerson; Inspector Andrew Kidwell; Inspector Iain Langley; Sergeant Pete Binchy; Sergeant Roddy O'Hara; Inspector Anna Kenworthy; and finally, Sergeant Ike McSwain—we call him 'Rabbit' on account of how he rabbits on and hardly lets anyone get a word in." She grinned fondly at Ike and everyone chuckled at the young man who hadn't spoken two words since his arrival that morning. "We've got four other officers who won't be joining us today. In keeping with the exchange between the Met and the New York Police Department, they'll be heading to New York City for six months. I'm sure you've heard all about it from—"

"Oh, _pissing_ hell!" Nan burst out, interrupting Emma's speech. She slapped a hand to her throbbing forehead.

All heads turned in her direction, startled.

"Jesus, Nan, what is it?" O'Hara exclaimed.

She turned to them, distraught, her face completely drained of colour. "The airport…" she murmured, her breathing growing shallow, "I was supposed to meet… Lieutenant Hickok at the airport…" She glanced down at her watch. "An hour ago!" she wailed.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Langley urged her, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. Nan's rare moments of flightiness never ceased to amuse him. "On your feet, woman! Get to the airport!"

Nan whirled round, breaking through the doors with twice her usual force. Her team gathered at the glass to peer through, chuckling as she turned the corner at breakneck speed.

"That girl will be the death of me yet," murmured Emma with a sigh.

"What did you expect?" Langley asked, his eyes dancing. "You take your life into your hands when you take on Nan Kenworthy."

* * *

_B_y the time Nan arrived, Jimmy had been waiting for close to two hours. He had collected his baggage from the carousel and now sat in an excruciatingly uncomfortable chair in the waiting area. He was tired and hungry and smelled rather unpleasant.

He hadn't had more than ten minutes of sleep on the seven-hour flight across the Atlantic, thanks in large part to the cramped conditions of the coach class, but thanks in larger part to the eight-year-old behind him who thought it was great fun to kick the back of Jimmy's seat repeatedly. Normally Jimmy was fond of children, but this one he would have gladly tossed out the first available window.

He was hungry for obvious reasons: airline food was unpalatable. One look at his dried chicken and congealed gravy was enough to make Jimmy push it away and reach for the Snickers bar he'd had the foresight to tuck in his carry-on bag. Now his stomach grumbled, turning over painfully. He felt faint at the mere thought of a cheeseburger. Whoever was meeting him at the airport had better be prepared to make a stop at the first available fast food restaurant.

The people milling around him darted funny glances his way, staring in amusement at the dishevelled American as he wandered around the airport, his luggage in tow. Jimmy felt sure they could smell him from yards away; he was sweating profusely and had had no luck finding his deodorant anywhere in his bags. "I'm sure I'll make a wonderful first impression," he noted wryly to himself.

He had given Detective Inspector Anna Kenworthy an hour before calling the number he had been given and speaking to a Chief Superintendent Seth Alcott, who had advised him that Inspector Kenworthy had realised her mistake and was headed to HeathrowAirport at that very moment. Grudgingly, Jimmy had agreed to wait longer. Now that the second hour had passed, he was seething with fury. It was bad enough he was nearly dead from sleep and sick from hunger, now he had to wait in this huge, noisy, overcrowded airport. When he met this Anna Kenworthy, he was sure as hell going to give her a piece of his mind.

A small crowd parted to reveal a young woman standing, her eyes searching around her, an exercise in futility. She wore a long black overcoat that reached past her knees and she tugged at the collar hesitantly. Then her eyes landed on Jimmy and she gazed at him. Jimmy stood.

She raced over to stand before him. "Lieutenant Hickok?" she asked hopefully. She had a lanky figure and looked to be nearly six feet tall. She was dressed conservatively and the expression on her face was as businesslike as her tailored black suit.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Inspector Kenworthy?"

"Oh, thank God." She sighed, infinitely relieved. "I am _so_ sorry, Lieutenant." She took his extended hand and they shook. "I had every intention of being here on time, but I'm afraid it slipped my mind, and then I had to hail a cab, and the traffic was just—"

"It's fine, Detective," Jimmy interrupted curtly. "I'd just like to get out of this airport and to my hotel as soon as possible. If that's not too much trouble."

Nan straightened herself up, bristling. "The title's 'Inspector' actually," she corrected him with frosty politeness. "And it's no trouble at all. Shall we be on our way?"

Jimmy followed her as she began to lead him from the terminal, doing his best to cool his temper. He shifted the strap of his carry-on over his shoulder and trudged along at the young woman's side.

Outside the wind was whipping through the covered parking area where a line of black taxicabs had gathered in wait. Nan stepped forward till her feet hung ever so slightly off the curb. She raised her arm in a gesture so elegant it looked to Jimmy as if she were about to execute a pirouette instead of summon a taxi. He didn't see how it was going to work. His experience with Manhattan taxi drivers had taught him that nothing less than a loud yell and an ear-piercing whistle would get you anywhere. To his amazement, a cab pulled forward and halted directly in front of the woman. The driver, a middle-aged man with grey hair and a rounded stomach, jumped out immediately and grabbed hold of Jimmy's luggage, huffing and puffing as he loaded it into the boot of the car.

When they had pulled out into the early morning London traffic, Nan reached in front of her to murmur the address to the driver. Then she slid the glass partition shut, dividing them from the driver, and turned to Jimmy with her hands primly folded together. She seemed prepared to make another stab at friendliness. "Welcome to London, Lieutenant. You're just in time."

Jimmy snorted. He was in no mood to endear himself to the Inspector just yet. "Just in time? Looks to me like I'm running two hours behind."

She bestowed a narrow gaze upon him. "I'm referring to the case we're working on, Lieutenant. Two murders, both within mere hours of each other, and grand larceny totalling over £900,000."

"You'll have to forgive me, Inspector; I just got off a seven-hour flight, I've had ten minutes of sleep and I haven't eaten in about twenty-four hours, so my mind's not too clear. This is going to have to wait."

Nan's lips tightened, her skin prickling in irritation. She was ready to choke him, him and his superior, condescending attitude. Typical American. Typical man. "As you wish, Lieutenant."

Something about her vaguely imperious attitude amused Jimmy. He grinned. "Can we strike a deal, Inspector? Drop the 'Lieutenant.' My name's James. My friends call me Jimmy."

"My friends call me Nan. But there's no point to that, is there, Lieutenant? We're not going to be friends, we're going to be co-workers." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Surprised, Jimmy said nothing. But his hackles rose once more.

"I apologise, Lieutenant, for speaking frankly, but I hope you'll understand. In my experience it's best to keep everything at a professional level."

And patronising, too. "Again with the 'Lieutenant.' Look, if you're not going to call me Jimmy, call me Hickok. You keep calling me Lieutenant like it's my name. Can you just call me Hickok?"

She bristled. "Of course I can. I apologise if I've offended you, _Hickok_." She pronounced his name with great force.

They glared at each other. The sudden tension was palpable. Jimmy knew that in that one moment they passed the point of no return—he and this woman were not going to get along. The blame could rest easily on either set of shoulders, but there was clearly no going back.

"May I at least inform you of the schedule for the week?"

"By all means." If she could be infuriatingly polite, then he could damn well do the same.

"Thank you _ever _so much." Her words fairly reeked of sarcasm. "Today, I've been instructed to take you directly to your hotel. You're not expected at the nick until tomorrow. Tomorrow you'll need to be at the Ladbroke Grove nick—"

His ears focused on the unfamiliar word. "The what?"

"The nick," she answered impatiently. "The police station. _May_ I continue? Tomorrow, you'll need to be at the Ladbroke Grove station at nine sharp. You can hail a taxi, but that would cost a fortune, so my advice is to take the bus or the tube." She paused. "Are you at all peckish? Would you like something to eat?"

"Peckish?"

"_Hungry_," she informed him with a roll of her eyes.

"Excuse me for not speaking British."

"Don't worry," she said with nauseating formality, "I'll translate for you should the need arise again."

"I'm sure I'll manage, Inspector."

There seemed to be nothing more to say after that. Nan crossed her arms and stared out the window. Jimmy watched her for a moment, noting the large diamond ring on her wedding finger, and then turned to stare out the opposite side.

"My sympathies to your fiancé," he muttered under his breath.

Nan pretended not to have heard, but she had, and her spine stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. For whatever reason this man was determined to insult her. She gazed down at her ring with a small, secret smile, twisting its brilliant loveliness around and around her finger. Well, she could manage Lieutenant James Hickok with no trouble. He wasn't the first copper she'd come across who couldn't handle working with women. Nor was he the first man to be put off—in some form or other—by a family heirloom masquerading as a "hands off" warning.

Lifting her head once more, Nan spied a small group of young boys standing on a street corner, passing a cigarette among them. One boy in particular caught her attention, standing half a foot taller than the others, his golden blond hair hidden by a blue kerchief tied around his head.

"Stop!" she shouted. Even through the glass, the driver heard her, and panic-stricken, screeched the vehicle to a halt.

Jimmy watched in amazement as Nan jumped out of the car and ran to the group of boys, her low pumps clattering harshly against the pavement. The boys scattered, but she reached out and grabbed the blond by the arm, holding him steadfast.

And then, to Jimmy's further surprise, she threw her arms around the boy and burst into tears.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_All the people_

_So many people_

_They all go hand in hand_

_Hand in hand through their parklife_

"Parklife" - Blur

* * *

_J_immy and the cab driver both scooted closer to their windows, peering out at Nan and the boy. At first the boy kept his arms at his sides and endured the hug solemnly, but after a moment he yielded and returned Nan's embrace.

Then she held him at arm's length and though it was impossible to make out her words, it was obvious she was giving the boy an earful. He hung his head, his fringe falling into his eyes, listening dutifully to the tirade. Nan began to lead him over to the taxi. When they opened the door, the sounds of their arguing filtered into the car.

"…don't _want_ to, Nan!" the boy was complaining.

"I don't recall asking you if you _wanted_ to, Paulie. Just get in the car."

"Nan, I'm nearly sixteen! You can't be ordering me about anymore!"

"Oh, can't I?" Her voice was impressively parental. "Paul Gabriel Kenworthy, get in that taxi before I raise a fuss right here in front of all your mates and embarrass the holy hell out of you."

The boy blushed at the thought. "Oh, Jesus. All right, Nan. All right." He climbed in the car and sat in the seat opposite Jimmy. Nan slammed the door shut and nodded to the driver, who pulled out again into the street.

"Who's he, then?" Paul asked, nodding toward Jimmy.

"God, your _manners_, Paulie."

"A'wright, mate?" Paul continued, ignoring her.

Jimmy grinned. "How's it going?"

"Oh, not so bad." Paul gestured to Nan and rolled his eyes. "Could be better, if you know what I mean."

"I think so." Jimmy managed not to laugh.

Nan ignored them. "Lieutenant, this is my cousin Paul. Paulie, this is Lieutenant Hickok of the New York Police Department."

"Call me Jimmy."

Nan shot him a withering glance.

The young boy's eyes were lit with interest. "You're from New York? Nan's promised to take me there for New Year's Eve sometime."

Despite the frown of displeasure, Nan's eyes betrayed the fact that she clearly adored the boy. She hinted at a smile. "And you promised not to run out on Granddad anymore."

"The old geezer's all worked up over nothing," Paul commented affectionately. "Bet he's ready to call the morgue looking for my body."

"Be nice," Nan reproached him. "He's an old man, Paulie, he worries about you."

Paul grinned cheekily. "Bet Uncle Jamie's not worried, though, eh? Bet Uncle Jamie's winking behind Granddad's back, saying, 'Boys will be boys, Willy my lad, boys will be boys!'"

Laughter trickled reluctantly from Nan. She looked at Jimmy. "Paulie lives with our grandfather and our grandfather's brother. They're complete opposites. Uncle Jamie's a bit more indulgent with Paulie's little escapades."

Paul just grinned.

"I'm taking Lieutenant Hickok to his hotel and then I'm carting you back to Granddad's."

"Oh, all right. I'm knackered anyway; I could use some sleep."

Nan's pager went off, screeching loudly. "Dammit," she breathed. She checked the message: _REPORT TO LADBROKE GROVE. LEAVE HICKOK AT HOTEL UNTIL TOMORROW. IKE._

Paul leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of the pager. "What's going on? The Old Bill send another summons?"

"Mind your own business, son," retorted Nan. "Lieutenant, I apologise, but I've got to go. Driver, would you please pull over here? I'll take the tube. It's cheaper and it'll be quicker in this traffic." She turned to Paul. "What would it take to get you to go back to Granddad's?"

"What would it take?" Paul cocked his head to one side and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Tickets to Blur. They're playing Hyde Park next weekend."

"Want some company?" grinned Nan.

"Who else? No one's a bigger fan than you and me."

"All right. Tickets to Blur it is. But Paulie, love, you've _got_ to go back, all right? If you don't, the deal is off."

"I promise, Nan," he huffed. "My word is my bond."

"I'm not even going to comment on that one." Pushing the cab door open, Nan quickly brushed her lips against Paul's cheek, tucking a wad of cash into his hand. "Take the cab on to Granddad's. Bye-bye, love." She leaned back into the cab. "Would you like me to pick you up tomorrow, Lieutenant?"

"Eight o'clock sharp… If you think you can manage."

The door slammed in answer.

"What was that for?" asked Paul with interest. He was used to seeing his cousin irritated, but her interactions with the Yank were interesting in their intensity.

"Your cousin and I haven't exactly hit it off. She's a bit…hard to take."

"You're mad! Nan's great."

"I just watched her drag you into this cab by your collar and you think she's great?"

Paul shrugged. "She worries about me, that's all. I do a runner, clear off and don't tell her where I'm going, gives 'em all a bad time. It drives her mad. I reckon it's because she's a copper and she knows all the trouble I can get into, all the bad stuff that can happen to me. She's brilliant, though. You'd like her if you gave her a chance."

"Whether or not I like her really has nothing to do with anything. I'm here to do a job."

* * *

_"S_tupid, condescending bastard," Nan rasped under her breath as she sped up the stairs of the station. Her beeper had gone off again, with another insistent message from Ike. But it wasn't at Ike that she was directing her anger. That arrogant Lieutenant Hickok, looking down at her and sneering at her every chance he got—and he had found plenty of opportunity in that twenty-minute car ride—and then daring to get matey with Paulie. "Arrogant bastard," she added for good measure.

"Ah, c'mon, Nan, I'm not so bad, am I?" Kid's light footsteps suddenly fell beside hers.

"Jesus, Kid. Would you stop doing that to me? Every time I turn around you're sneaking up on me!" Nan felt better extinguishing some of her fury, even if it was on the wrong person.

But Kid only seemed amused. "What's got into _you_, then?"

Nan was only too happy to oblige him with an answer. "This Hickok bloke from New York! I show up at the airport and straightaway he starts a row."

"You _were_ two hours late," Kid pointed out helpfully.

She made a face at him. "What are you, the Punctuality Fairy? I haven't got time for this. Ike's paged me twice to get to the Incident Room."

"Another house burgled," Kid informed her, matching her long stride with his own. "A rich old Lord Something-or-Other in St John's Wood. His wife was having a breakfast luncheon…something like that…went upstairs to show her mates her latest emerald, and it was gone."

"Poor dear. Alone in her mansion without her emeralds."

Kid laughed. "Ah, fair play to her, Nan. If you've got that kind of money you may as well enjoy what you can buy with it."

"I'm not knocking it, Kid. I'm only saying I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for these people. Lady Whoever-She-Is lost a few bits and bobs—real sob story. She didn't even have to deal with a dead body like those other poor sods."

They had pushed through the Incident Room doors where all was abuzz once more. Noah and Pete were quickly pulling on their jackets, preparing to go. Ike was typing madly away at a computer, words blurring in his eyes as he skimmed like lightning through the document before him. Emma Shannon was in the midst of the chaos, pointing in all directions and barking orders.

"O'Hara, get those files for McSwain, please! Albarn, ring the superintendent—at home, on his mobile, I don't care, just ring him! Pete, you'd better be out that door and on the way to Lord Harbury's before I count to five, or so help me—"

"I'm out, guv!" Pete called back, desperately trying to button his jacket.

"And take Nan with you! I need Dixon and Kid to run to the St John's Wood nick!"

Pete grabbed Nan's arm as he flew past her. She whirled round, her feet skidding against the linoleum floor as he pulled her along. "Cor! Pete, would you slow down?"

"The law waits for no woman, Nan, my girl. Let's get a move on."

Nan pulled her arm free, shrugging him off uncomfortably. "I can walk on my own, thanks, Pete."

"Please yourself."

Nan could feel the eyes of her team-mates on them as they walked away, and she knew what they were all wondering: How could the boss have been so daft as to send Nan and Pete out together? She knew that eyebrows were being raised, and murmurs of gossip were rounding the room. She knew, too, what Emma's answer would have been, had anyone actually dared to ask her why she had sent Kenworthy and Binchy as a team: "Because they work well together."

Despite their chequered past, despite the months spent in the midst of what they had believed was love, and despite even the acrimonious weeks that had followed their split, Nan and Pete did work well together, and always had. It was something about their personalities, picking up where the other left off, sensing the other's intentions before they were clear to anyone else; mixing and blending till you could hardly tell where one detective left off and the other began. It was a quality that suited them in the force, but for some reason had not seen them through a romance. Now the thought of being alone with Pete Binchy during the drive to St John's Wood made Nan inwardly shudder, but she was nothing if not determined. In this instance she was determined to win back the respect she had lost after her relationship with Pete had been discovered by the team.

"Pick up the pace, Nan," growled Pete, realising she had once again begun to lag behind. They had reached the car, a sleek, sporty little black number, new to the force. Pete was rather proud of it, though it wasn't his. "Shall I drive, or shall you?"

"Please yourself," she retorted.

She allowed him to open the door for her, though her teeth gritted painfully. God, she hated it when he pulled the gentleman's act. She reached over and unlocked his door for him.

He looked surprised. "Well, isn't that very kind of you." His tone was achingly sarcastic. He reached for her hand without warning and lifted it, inspecting it carefully. "Still wearing that bloody awful ring, I see."

Nan snatched her hand away. "Quit _touching_ me," she hissed. "Just get this car started and get going."

It was several moments before they spoke again. By then Pete had them well on the way to St John's Wood. Nan concentrated on the passing cars and hoped like hell he would just leave her be.

But apparently he had no intention of doing any such thing. She wasn't surprised. These days he never passed up an opportunity to give her aggro.

"Still," he suddenly remarked, as off-handedly as if he were merely continuing a conversation instead of starting one up, "what good does that ring do you, Nan? I mean, really? Are you fighting them off now that you've got me out of the way?"

"Jesus…" Nan broke off in a sigh. "Not now, Pete. Haven't we had enough of this?"

"Not really, no. If we had, d'you think I'd be troubling you now? I mean, do you really think that's my style?"

"I don't know! There's loads about you that I don't know, Pete; it's rather a large part of the reason we broke things off."

She could see his jaw clench tightly. His knuckles grasped harder on the steering wheel as his green eyes inspected the traffic before him with the precision and intensity of a laser beam. "No," he corrected her sharply, "it's why _you_ broke things off. There was no 'we' in the decision-making process, as I recall."

"I give up." Nan buried her face in her hands. When she spoke her voice was muffled. "I give up, I really do. What more do you want from me?"

"Answers. I want answers! Tell me what I did wrong and I'll make it right."

She had heard this speech before. It was a familiar litany now, falling from his lips like a mantra. "Tell me what I did wrong," he would say when they were alone together, "and I'll make it right, Nan, I swear I will."

"Not _now_, Pete, honestly. We're working! This isn't the time!"

He said nothing, but his breathing picked up and she could hear a low, strangled sound stifled in his throat. She knew these signs all too well.

She picked up where she had left off, "And I know you're going to say that it's never the time, and you're right! It's _never_ the time. I don't owe you anything, you don't owe me anything, and that's the way it works. We were lovers once and now we're not; that's it. It ends there. That we're forced to work together is unfortunate, but inevitable. We have to make the best of it. You must stop this rubbish at once, I mean it. You're making life intolerable!"

"_I'm_ making life intolerable?" Pete's laugh was a curt, disbelieving bark. "Oh, that's rich, Inspector! That's very rich indeed, coming from you."

Nan turned away again, refusing to look at him. It would only encourage him to say more, and she didn't want to hear anymore. "Just stop, all right? We're working. There's more important matters at hand."

Pete watched as his knuckles turned white. He grasped the wheel like a lifeline and tried hard to bring his temper back under control. He was all right, really, until he had to see her again, which was every bloody day. She was just so lovely and perfect and cold and cruel and she never wanted to give him so much as the time of day. It was enough to drive a bloke mad.

Relieved that the silence was lingering, Nan checked the slip of paper Pete had placed on the dashboard. She inspected the address and realised they were nearly there.

"It's just past this corner—"

"I'm well aware of that."

His interruption had been abrupt and harsh, but comfortably free of his earlier desperate passion. Nan was content to leave it at that. She studied his profile, the high forehead, the sharp, classic nose, the lines of his mouth. He had well put-together features. There was no doubt he was handsome, she still felt a powerful surge of attraction. But it was useless. She shook her head to herself, answering an unasked question. It was useless to think of being with him again. She wouldn't be making that mistake again in a hurry.

Lord Harbury's home was enormous. The sheer size of the brick and stone house was not to be understated. It was exactly the sort of London home those of his class and wealth were expected to have, but it didn't stop Nan being overcome by the size of it. For a moment she and Pete stood at the foot of the stairs and gazed at the door, daunted at the prospect of actually entering, each of them suddenly aware of their working-class accents and state school backgrounds. _Bloody English class system._

The door opened, and two uniformed police constables, both men, exited, consulting their notebooks as they went. Behind them, a regal man of about sixty was ushering them out, his face slack with shock and panic. The two constables looked up at the sight of Pete and Nan.

In smooth motions, Pete and Nan slipped their badges out of their pockets and presented them to the PC's and the man who was obviously Lord Harbury. "DS Binchy," Pete said. He pointed to Nan, "and DI Kenworthy. We're with AMIT, currently based out of Ladbroke Grove."

The taller of the two PC's, a fair, ginger-haired young man with a smattering of freckles, answered for both himself and his partner. "PC O'Bannion. This here's PC Franklin."

"St John's Wood?"

PC O'Bannion nodded. PC Franklin looked quickly at the AMIT officers and quickly away, flushing to the roots of his dark hair.

"This gentleman is Lord Harbury," PC O'Bannion continued. "It's his home that's been burgled. He was away at the office, it was his missus and her friends at home."

"We've retained Lady Harbury for questioning," PC Franklin added, his shyness fading as he went on. "But I'm afraid we got nothing from her. She was downstairs the whole time, from about nine o'clock on, and the robbery took place upstairs."

"No witnesses?" Pete, all business, asked with his utmost professionalism.

"None at all."

The devil on Nan's shoulder seemed to speak for her, riled by the size of the Harbury house and the sight of the titled gentleman. "No cook? Scullery maid? Butler?"

Pete shot her a sharp reproving look over his shoulder. His eyes were silent warning.

Lord Harbury stepped forward. His lower lip quivered with fury. "I'll thank you not to have your fun at my wife's expense, Inspector."

Embarrassment flooded through Nan till she felt her blood tingle with it. The cheeky smile left her face. She hated the feel of the other men staring at her. "Beg your pardon, sir. I was only meaning to lighten the mood."

"My wife is upstairs with a cold cloth over her eyes, frightened out of her mind, Inspector. Just because you've got a working-class chip on your shoulder doesn't make my wife's grief worth any less. We're not talking about some stolen jewellery, you know, we're talking about a very valued and beloved employee."

The embarrassment was quickly overtaken by confusion. Pete and Nan stared at Lord Harbury, puzzled.

"Beg your pardon, sir?" Pete said.

Despite feeling a dash of pleasure at seeing an AMIT officer get taken down a peg or two, PC O'Bannion could see that Nan and Pete had missed a step and felt rather bad for them. "Did they not tell you?"

"Tell us what?" Nan demanded. "Is this employee missing?"

"No, ma'am," piped in PC Franklin., "he's dead. They've found another body."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_What happened to the empire? There's nothing in the bank_

_They gave away the empire, without a word of thanks_

_Oh, let's blame it on the yanks_

"London" - Roger Hodgson

* * *

_I_t so happened that Kid was elected to pick Lieutenant McCloud up from Heathrow that Saturday, and like Nan he was none too pleased with the assignment. Unlike Nan, however, he was an hour early, so that when Louise McCloud exited from customs, he would be standing there, ready and waiting. Exactly what he would be waiting for he didn't know exactly; he had no clue what Louise McCloud looked like. He imagined a woman with Nan's guarded gaze and Emma Shannon's imposing swagger, a woman with a purposeful stride and the same no-nonsense invulnerability both women displayed. Possibly attractive in the same way that Nan and Emma were: sharp, capable, independent, looking as if they'd box your ears as soon as look at you.

He wasn't prepared for the reality of Louise McCloud. He saw her the moment she stepped into view, the small woman with brown hair and dark eyes, so defenceless, so vulnerable. She was struggling under the three or four pieces of luggage she carried. Kid was just moving to help her when she suddenly looked at him and then at the sign in his hands. MCCLOUD was written in large red letters. Relief flooded her features. She made her way quickly and met Kid in the middle.

"I'm Lieutenant McCloud."

Kid's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you do, Lieutenant? I'm Inspector Kidwell."

"Please—call me Louise." Vulnerability was not evident in her confident voice.

"Andrew," he replied in introduction, "but everyone calls me Kid, so you may as well do." The smile that flashed over his lips was every bit as attractive as his blue eyes, Lou noted briefly.

"All right," she replied with a smile, "I will."

They stood and stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment. It wasn't awkward; on the contrary, it was a look that seemed to acquaint them better, so that they were no longer two strangers in an airport. Then Kid seemed to suddenly come to his senses, shaking his head as if to ward off further thoughts. "I expect you're exhausted, Louise. Let me help you with those things and we'll get you to your hotel."

Lou allowed him to take the two heaviest pieces of luggage from her. "That sounds perfect," she said. "A quick shower and a change of clothes and I'll be ready to go."

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. You're not expected at the nick until Monday."

"That's ridiculous. I'm ready to work now. That's why I'm here."

"Of course, but you've had a long flight. You could use the rest, surely? You look ready to drop."

"I'm tougher than I look." Lou shrugged. "A shower will make a world of difference. I can catch up on my sleep tonight. I may as well get my body used to the time change." She consulted her watch. "Eleven a.m. isn't usually when the English turn in for bed, is it?"

"Hardly." Kid grinned.

The expression on her face clearly said, 'Well, that settles it.' She held the door open for Kid to walk through. "Let's get a move on, then."

"Is it really best for you, do you think? I'm only concerned on your behalf, Lieutenant."

"That's very kind of you, Inspector, but I'm fine. Really." Lou's tone was firm and resolute. She was not to be trifled with.

"But…" Kid trailed off helplessly.

They had reached Kid's car and stopped. "Look, I appreciate your concern for my welfare, I really do. But I'm fine. I'm ready for work. I'm even looking forward to it. You'll just have to deal with it. Your boss will just have to deal with it. All right?"

There was no holding back the amusement Kid felt. His laughter echoed off the walls of the parking garage. "All right," he agreed as he unlocked the boot of the car. "You do drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant."

"Not so hard, really. Just let me make my own decisions, and you and I will get along just fine." Having said that, Lou did not wait for Kid, but began to hoist her luggage into the empty space. When she was finished, she opened the door and settled herself inside.

Kid's fingers rapped softly on the window. Reaching for the handle, Lou manoeuvred the window to whisper softly down into place. "Yes?"

He was grinning, an infectious, highly amused smirk that touched Lou's nerves just a bit. He cleared his throat. "Just thought I'd warn you—the turn indicator's a bit dodgy; you might have a bit of bother with it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The turn indicator." Kid pointed. "It's a tad unreliable. Give it a good tug and you should be all right."

Lou followed the direction of his extended finger, and for the first time noted the steering wheel directly in front of her. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. "The turn indicator?" she murmured to herself.

Kid's curly head ducked a little lower. They were eye to eye, and his were dancing, enjoying the little scenario unforgivably. "I reckon you shouldn't have too much trouble with London traffic at this hour, but would you like directions?"

Lou stared again at the steering wheel. It was there, on her side. The right side. The passenger side. She wondered bemusedly why that seemed wrong. Suddenly hours of 'Masterpiece Theatre' and BBC news registered with Lou. She glared at Kid. "Shut up and let me out of the car." For a moment her ears burned with mortification, and she couldn't look at him, hear him laughing, without wanting to deck him. He was much too damn smug about it.

After a minute though, she began to see the humour in it, and a slow smile worked its way over her lips. She leaned back against the car and crossed her arms over her wrinkled blouse. "All right, all right," she relented. "Pretty funny, I know."

Kid's laughter was fading, but not his grin. Obviously this was an anecdote he was going to remember and enjoy for a long, long time. "Your face… You were looking at that steering wheel like you were trying to work out what the hell it was doing there, and how you could get it back on its proper side."

"I was," Lou admitted, running her hands over her face and sighing deeply. "I promise I'm not an Ugly American. I don't know why it didn't register."

"Jet lag, Louise. It'll get you every time."

"This doesn't mean I'm changing my mind about going to the station! I still have every intention of reporting for work today."

Kid saluted her mockingly. "Aye-aye, Captain. Message received."

* * *

_W_ithin the first few hours of his introduction to the AMIT and Ladbroke Grove teams, Jimmy had figured out those he would be able to work with and those he would prefer not to. By the weekend, when Louise was expected, he had found his way into the circle of officers who passed his own personal inspection. McSwain, Dixon, Kidwell, Emerson, and Langley were good officers who had immediately accepted him as if he were one of their own. The first night they had dragged him to a nearby pub and plied him with pint after pint of cider. Their hearty laughter had added to the already noisy establishment. Jimmy felt he'd known these men forever, particularly Kid, who seemed, with his sharp eyes, to read Jimmy's mind.

On Friday, Emerson, along with O'Hara, Binchy, and Albarn, had been sent to the St John's Wood nick to assist the officers there. Jimmy was sorry to see Emerson go—he was a likeable guy whose Don Juan reputation had been a constant source of amusement for the team—but Jimmy wasn't sure he could say the same for the other AMIT officers. Albarn was friendly enough, but his arrogant self-assurance got grating after a short length of time; Binchy had seemed to take an immediate dislike to Jimmy for reasons he apparently found it best to keep to himself, and O'Hara was, in the words of the cheerful, sunny-faced Iain Langley, "a miserably moody bastard." The atmosphere lightened considerably after O'Hara had gone.

But there was still Nan Kenworthy.

Jimmy had tried—and he could say that honestly—not to argue with Nan Kenworthy, but somehow it couldn't be helped. Their first impressions had set the tone for their entire working relationship and it seemed she wasn't willing to let bygones be bygones. The woman absolutely refused to cut him any slack. She was brusque, even rude at times, and presumptuous and uncooperative and irritating as hell. Their bickering was already becoming stuff of legend.

The ironic thing was that she was universally admired by the AMIT guys. They praised her to the highest: her independence and professionalism, her sense of humour, her strength, her great legs, her abrasive wit. Every last one of them thought the world of her. Jimmy wouldn't have gone as far as to say any of them fancied her, but it was obvious she was thought of highly in every regard. They couldn't understand why Jimmy didn't agree, but then, in addition to the ever-growing collection of chips on her shoulder, it seemed that Anna Kenworthy was a loyal team-mate. To his amazement, they were as devoted to her as they were to Emma Shannon.

Emma Shannon was a different story altogether. In Jimmy's eyes, she and Nan couldn't have been more dissimilar. Though Emma was just as hard-nosed and level-headed as Nan, she clearly had a more approachable side, and the kindness in her eyes could not be hidden, not with the sternest gaze or the gruffest demand. By the end of the first day Jimmy would gladly have jumped off London Bridge if Emma Shannon had so commanded.

Saturday they were promised an early release; there were as yet no strong leads on the case that Ladbroke Grove had unofficially christened 'Operation Posh Murders,' and Emma knew her team was exhausted. Lou's plane was due in and Jimmy was eager to see her. It felt as if he'd been away for months instead of less than a week.

They had gathered in the incident room, Emma once more at the front of the room, the centre of attention. Another photo had been added to the board: that of Maurice Fitzhugh, Lord Harbury's butler of thirty-four years, the last body found. The snaps of Lady Harbury's jewellery were scattered on the table before Emma. Iain Langley stood at her side, looking over her shoulder, both of them peering at photos of the last crime scene as Emma sifted through them. The room was at a respectful hush.

"I don't know. Jesus, I just don't know. None of it makes any sense. Maybe I'm too thick to see it, but I just can't make out anything to go on." Emma's soft, melodious Leeds accent sounded heavy and slurred, the effects of sleep deprivation beginning to weigh on her. She looked up at Iain beside her. "What about you, Langley? You see anything?"

Iain shook his thick-haired blond head. "Nothing, guv, sorry," he answered forlornly.

Emma sighed and slouched into a chair, reaching to rub her aching neck with both hands. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. "This is the part I hate most," she confided to her assembled team. "This is the part they don't show on those naff, made-for-telly copper shows. All they show you is the exciting bit, where the copper gets a lead and then starts working it out from there. They don't show you the bits in between, do they? The bits where the officers sit round the nick with their heads in their hands, staring at a bunch of snaps of dead bodies and rich people's jewellery, not an effing clue to go on. They leave that out, don't they?"

"They'd have to, wouldn't they, guv?" Iain, the resident court jester, smiled. "It'd be dead boring, for starters, and it'd have to be a chuffing miniseries!"

Emma opened her eyes, breaking out into a grin. Relieved to see her in better spirits, everyone else grinned, too. "You're a nutter, Langley," Emma said affectionately. "A complete and total nutter."

"But you wouldn't have me any other way."

"No. Heaven help us, we wouldn't." Emma shook her head and rose from the chair. "All right, you lot, let's call it a day. We're just sitting here taking up space and wasting the precious remaining hours of our day. See you all back here tomorrow, unless you hear the merry ringing of your beepers, in which case it'll be much sooner."

"Looking forward to it!" Noah replied sarcastically as he began to log off his computer.

The room cleared of Ladbroke Grove officers within minutes, leaving only Emma and the remnants of AMIT. They all stared at each other.

"That was fast," Emma snorted.

"That lot aren't used to putting in these hours," commented Ike before bowing his head to rest it on the table. "Don't usually get a case of this magnitude out here round all these boring rich folks."

Noah nodded. "It's taking a lot out of them, poor sods."

"Not something I have to worry about with my lads, is it?" Emma said, with a wink in Nan's direction.

"It'd be nice, though, if we weren't separated." Nan said from her vantage point at the windowsill. "I like it much better when we're all working in the same nick, none of this spread about business."

"I don't like it, either, but there's not much I can do about it, other than shuttle all of us back and forth every day. That wouldn't work too well, would it? For one thing, you know how Albarn gets carsick."

Nan laughed. "Good point. But I didn't just mean them; I mean Hastings and Taylor and that lot. They're halfway across the world!"

Noah slipped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her briefly. "We'll be all right, Nan. Jimmy says his mates are some of the best. Once we get them here we'll be all sorted and good as new."

"I'd say we're halfway there, judging from the look of it." Everyone turned to see Iain standing with his nose pressed against the glass of the door. "Kid's headed this way and he's got a real looker with him. Jimmy mate, is this the famous Louise?"

Jimmy crossed the room in seconds flat, grinning from ear to ear. "Small girl with brown hair?"

Ike had joined Iain at the door. "Brown eyes you could drown in," he added.

By then Kid and Lou were walking through the door. Lou looked as fresh and bright-eyed as if she'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine. Her blue suit was smart yet feminine, her brown hair in a practical chignon that somehow managed to be quite elegant. Nan smoothed down her wrinkled trousers self-consciously and remained where she was.

Jimmy was the first to greet Lou, bending to lift her by the waist and swing her up into the air for a hug. When he had set her down, Lou patted his shoulder and grinned at him. "I must say, that was rather improper, Lieutenant."

"Improper, hell," Jimmy said dismissively. "I'm just glad you're here, Lou."

"No more than I am," interrupted Emma, holding out her hand to the new officer. "We've needed you. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I'm Emma Shannon."

"Pleased to meet you, Superintendent. Before I left, Teaspoon—Chief Hunter—briefed me on your background, and I know it's going to be a pleasure working with you."

Nan was impressed with Lou McCloud's manner, a manner which seemed to display both reverence and self-confidence. As Emma introduced the remaining officers, Nan watched the small young woman with the dark eyes as she shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. There was an air of quiet strength about her.

When she came to Nan, she smiled up at her. She was at least a foot shorter, if not a few inches more. Suddenly, in the face of Louise's small, dainty loveliness, Nan felt taller and ganglier than she ever had. It brought to mind her grade school years and all the taunts of 'Nana Long Legs.' But she smiled at Lou. "Pleasure to meet you."

Lou smiled back. Privately she was intrigued by the other woman and by the unreadable expression in her clear eyes. She thought a woman who looked like Nan probably had no business being on the police force when the fashion magazines of the world were in such desperate need of a new face. Then she reproached herself for the thought and for passing the same sort of judgement people so often passed on her: that as a woman, and because of the way she looked—Lou would forever curse her vertically-challenged ancestors—she wasn't cut out for the job. She smiled again at Nan and turned to see Kid at her side.

"Guv says they were just wrapping up for the day," he told her. "They're clearing out of here now. Would you like to be taken back to your hotel?"

"I can take her back," Jimmy spoke up. Nan watched him. There was a new tightness to his voice, an expression of discomfort.

"Actually, I'm not in the mood for rest. I'd like to see the sights. I'd like to see Westminster Abbey…is that tacky?"

Kid laughed. "Perfectly understandable. Would you like an escort?"

The others were leaving, talking amongst themselves. Only Jimmy and Nan were left, watching as Louise and Kid smiled and chatted and walked slowly out into the hall. Their easy camaraderie seemed surprisingly natural, though sudden, and there was an underlying note of something…something that didn't quite befit two relative strangers. Apparently Jimmy thought so too, judging from the thunderous look on his face.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_The changes taking place are everywhere_

_The centuries past have nothing to compare_

_Where they stand, where they trip and fall_

_Watch the writing on the wall_

"London Bridge" - Bread

* * *

_N_an had no great fondness for James Hickok and she had never once pretended to. She found him arrogant and overbearing at the best of times, downright insufferable at the worst. Why the splendid lads she worked with not only liked but admired him was beyond her. More than once she had had to remind herself that there was no accounting for taste.

With all this in mind, it surprised Nan to realise that the look of bewildered pain on Jimmy's face had affected her as deeply as it had. As she climbed aboard the Hammersmith & City line train that same evening, she kept seeing Jimmy's eyes, the light in them fading as he watched Kid walk away with Louise. Seating herself, Nan settled in for the short ride to King's Cross, and tried to stop her mind from turning back to Jimmy. It was of no concern to her why he looked and felt the way he did.

Grumbling to herself in irritation, she reached into her satchel for the book she was reading and opened it, fully intending to read a chapter on the journey. But Jimmy's face obliterated the words.

Nan tossed the book back in her bag and silently cursed the man. Her grandfather had always told her she had a soft heart, but that she should feel an emotional pull in James Hickok's direction—of all people! The _most_ obnoxious man in existence. She really shouldn't care one way or the other if his heart was breaking, but she was horribly afraid that she did.

It wasn't that it was Jimmy in particular, it was only that there was had been such pain in his face where she had grown accustomed to seeing only maddening, self-assured calm. She knew she was the last person in the world Jimmy would have wanted to reveal himself to, but he had, however unwillingly, and try as she might Nan couldn't forget such sadness. And it came to her why. 'He loves her,' she thought. 'The poor sod loves her.'

In a peculiar flash of insight, Nan suddenly saw everything: Jimmy's love for Louise McCloud, probably never vocalised, certainly never realised by Louise herself; the yearning, the hope. Probably Jimmy had loved her for ages, silently, only to have Kid waltz in at the eleventh hour and sweep her off her feet. Nan was no expert in the romance department, but she had seen Kid today and knew, much to her own previous frustration, that she had never seen him look at any woman the way he had looked at Louise McCloud. And although she didn't know Louise very well, the brilliant spark of admiration and interest in her eyes could not be mistaken. Kid was sweet, intelligent, charming, and dashingly handsome, and it was obvious that Louise was interested.

Nan got off at King's Cross station, making her way to the Northern line platform with a furrowed brow. It was no good pretending otherwise: she felt badly for Jimmy Hickok. Poor bloke, pining away for a woman he was probably not ever going to have. Much as she privately rooted for Kid, Nan could sympathise with Jimmy's plight: unrequited passion was nothing new to her. Still, it was no good feeling sorry for him. He would want her pity even less than her sympathy.

The train journey to Hampstead seemed quicker than usual, and before she realised it, she was striding up the stairs and out into the crisp autumn afternoon. Wrapping her scarf more securely about her neck, Nan began the walk to her grandfather's with a smile on her face. She loved this weather, with the cool breezes cutting through the air, the leaves swirling round, that tint of pink touching everyone's cheeks. She loved London and nothing gave her greater pleasure than to walk through its bustling, eclectic streets.

She let herself into her grandfather's, feeling the subdued warmth of the hall embrace her immediately. The sounds of Benny Goodman filtered from the sitting room; no doubt Uncle Jamie was dancing along, as spry and agile as the young man he had been when the music was new to the world. Wonderful smells were emitting from the direction of the kitchen. Nan peeled off her coat and scarf, setting her satchel down on the bench, and crept down the hall.

As suspected, her grandfather was at the stove, humming to himself and sprinkling spices into whatever it was that was bubbling deliciously before him. He danced along to the rhythm of the rambunctious swing music that had carried to the kitchen. Nan leaned against the doorframe and watched him for a minute.

To her surprise and delight, Granddad paused in the midst of his cooking to put the jar of spice down and do a small twirl in the middle of the room, whistling loudly to a particularly bouncy part of the song. He stopped mid-twirl and gaped at Nan, blushing furiously, the dark red quite a contrast to his white beard.

Nan couldn't resist. "I had no idea I'd be dining with Fred Astaire this evening."

"Oh, shut it."

Laughing, Nan crossed the room and bestowed her grandfather with a hearty kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Granddad."

He smiled at her, resting his forehead against hers. "Hello, my lovely. How are you?"

"Just fine. How are you?" She stroked the hair at the back of his neck. She loved the soft, whitish-grey waves and the gentle expression that was always in his eyes whenever he gazed upon one of his grandchildren.

"Splendid. Thanks for whatever you said to Paulie, he's been an angel this week."

"Bribery, Granddad, pure and simple."

Granddad looked deeply disapproving. "You know I don't hold with bribing, Nan. It's not the proper way to bring up a child."

"You're a darling for thinking so, but you know it's the only way to deal with him these days."

"That's not true. He's a good boy, Nan, he just needs—"

"A bit of support and a lot of guidance," Nan supplied. "Yes, Granddad, I know."

"Don't give me that world-weary, condescending Detective Inspector voice you always use when you think I'm being a silly old git."

Nan pealed with laughter. "Yes, okay, point taken. Sorry."

There was the sudden thud of Uncle Jamie entering the room with a debonair little dance left over from his theatre days. He stopped just at the doorway to beam into the room. "Now there's a sound I can't get enough of," he exclaimed delightedly, "the laughter of the most beautiful girl in the world!"

"Hello, Uncle Jamie."

"Hello, gorgeous! Come and give us a hug. How's the best copper in London?"

Nan laughed as Uncle Jamie released her from his embrace and did another little jig, heading to the stove where he peered into the stew his brother was preparing. He received a shove as Granddad moved him out of the way.

"Come on, Will, what are you getting cooked up this evening?" Jamie cast a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder at Nan.

"Oh, sit down, Jamie, would you?" Will said impatiently. "Or make yourself useful and call Paulie to the table."

Watching from the table, Nan had to laugh again at her grandfather, with his soft, lean frame and gently handsome features standing next to his brother, who was a head taller, a good deal bonier, and bore a quite startling resemblance to Peter O'Toole. They made a funny pair and were an endless source of amusement to both Paul and Nan, for as much as they loved each other, the two brothers were constantly discovering ways of irritating one another.

Without being called, Paul's footsteps were heard in the hallway and he bounded into the kitchen with dishevelled blond hair and unlaced trainers. Granddad glared disapprovingly at the boy's two-sizes-too-big trousers and the oversized t-shirt that bore the name of a pop band Will had no great love of. Paul was whistling, and winked at Nan before leaning over to kiss her hello.

"What do you say, Nan my girl?" Uncle Jamie asked, seating himself across from her. "Care to dine with three of the handsomest bachelors in England this evening?"

"I'd be delighted."

They busied themselves setting out plates and forks and pouring drinks—red wine for Uncle Jamie and Granddad, a vodka and orange for Nan, and club soda for a grumbling, under-aged Paul. Once they had settled down to Granddad's marvellous stew, conversation began and quickly turned to the case Nan's team was working on.

"Tell us about it then, Nan," begged Paul, leaning over his plate.

"Paulie, you know I can't talk about a case. How many times do we have to go over this?"

"It's all over the papers anyway, love," Granddad said. "Those rich businessmen, and then that chap's butler, wasn't it? They say the police have no leads."

"God, I hate the press," Nan mumbled into her drink.

"It's all very interesting," added Uncle Jamie.

"Interesting," snorted Nan, "and difficult. We're split up now; Guv's sent half of us to St John's Wood. The rest of us are staying with her in Ladbroke Grove."

"You're their best, aren't you, Nan?" Paul asked with shining eyes. "That's why your boss keeps you around and sends the other chaps off, innit? You could wipe the floor with the lot of them."

"Hardly, Paulie."

"Oh, pshaw!" Uncle Jamie protested. "You're worth ten of those men! Who was just promoted to Inspector after only four years with the team? It wasn't any of them, it was you! I want to know why you're not Superintendent yet."

Nan sighed and didn't meet anyone's eyes. Sometimes it was very hard to be a copper—the horrible things one was forced to see, the sad news one was often forced to deliver, the abuse an officer often had to deal with at the hands of the very people she had sworn to protect. All of that made it a difficult profession. But somehow nothing was quite as difficult as trying to explain to her adoring family why she hadn't received the accolades they felt she deserved.

"It doesn't work that way, Uncle Jamie," she explained patiently, for the hundredth time. "I can't just shoot straight to Superintendent from Inspector, for one thing, and getting promoted takes ages in the first place. I'd have been a Detective Sergeant for a hell of a lot longer if it hadn't been for that case."

"Yes, the drug trafficking. Nasty business," Granddad said, sadly contemplating his bowl of stew. He looked at his young, rebellious grandson and remembered Nan describing to them the terrible, horrific ordeals she had seen as the result of that case: teenagers wasting away on heroin and meth, grown men and women pushing their sadistic wares on children in the street, and all of the depravity serving to pad the pockets of men whom Will deemed workers of the devil. And because of that case, because of her fierce tenacity, her stubborn determination, her unwillingness to let any clue slip by, his granddaughter had been promoted to Inspector.

The conversation turned to other topics, and Will gazed at Nan in wonder. Could this amazing creature really be the little girl he'd rocked to sleep for so many years? This tall, lanky young woman with her mother's magnificent bone structure and her father's dark blue eyes, dressed so impeccably in elegant charcoal grey—had she really once been the tiny lass in plaits and hand-knitted jumpers? She was so poised, so self-assured, and according to the men she worked with, one of the best officers on the force. Will tried to imagine her in the midst of chaos, questioning witnesses and inspecting gruesome murder scenes, grilling hardened criminals, shouting orders as necessary—he tried to imagine all that, and failed miserably. It all came out looking like something out of a crime film, when Will knew it had to be much more grisly and unflattering than that.

That his lovely, delicate granddaughter was any part of that was completely beyond his comprehension. And he didn't want to think any further. He had already spent too many sleepless nights contemplating the dangers Nan could find herself in.

Always, in the back of his mind, no matter what he was doing, he was subconsciously expecting the phone call that would inform him his granddaughter had been wounded or taken hostage, or worse yet, that he no longer had any granddaughter at all. Just thinking of the possibility brought tears to Will's eyes. He tried to ward them off, but they would come, dammit. He took a long drink of wine and tried to avoid everyone else's gazes. Jamie would think him a silly old fool and Paulie would be the last to understand. Nan would just shake her head and tell him he was worrying himself sick over nothing. But she was the last remaining link to his beloved, long-dead son, and there was always the possibility she could be taken from them, and Will knew it all too well.

Paulie had told some inappropriate joke, and Nan and Jamie were laughing appreciatively. Suddenly Will lifted his head, his ears searching for some faint sound he had discerned amid the laughter.

"Shush," he instructed during a moment of silence.

Paul and Jamie rolled their eyes at one another.

"Do you hear that?" Will asked.

"Hear what, Granddad?"

"This weird little beeping sort of sound. I think it's coming from the hallway."

"Beeping?" Nan reached to her belt loop and patted it. Nothing. "Oh, blast! It must be my beeper. I took it off and stuck it in my satchel. Paulie, would you run and fetch it for me?"

Paul was off like a shot and returned with his cousin's bag. "It's beeping like a mad thing," he announced cheerfully.

Nan withdrew her beeper—a large, impressive black contraption with all the technical trimmings—and opened the flap to reveal the screen with Iain's message: _ANDROPOLOUS, CLAUSSEN, AND HARBURY ARRIVED ST JOHN'S WOOD. ALL FURIOUS. PLEASE REPORT TO NICK ASAP. LANGLEY._ Reading the message over a second time, Nan sighed and flipped the lid shut again.

"I say," remarked Uncle Jamie in awe, "that's quite a piece of equipment you have to carry around, there."

"You like it, Uncle Jamie? You can have it. The stupid thing's a pain in the arse," Nan answered in disgust.

Paul was bursting with curiosity. "Business, Nan?"

Despite her irritation, she grinned at him and ruffled his hair. "Yes, my nosy little lad, it's business." She turned to her uncle and grandfather. "We've got some unhappy customers down at the station."

"Customers?" her grandfather asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The victims of the burglaries. They've been having fits since the case started; they're not too happy with the job we've done so far."

"Well, it's hardly your fault the thieving murderer didn't leave any clues behind," Granddad said indignantly.

Nan grinned. "Right you are, Granddad. Come on down with me and sort them out for us, will you?"

"Don't be cheeky."

"Anyway, I've got to go." Gulping down the last of her drink, Nan rose from the table. "You fine gentlemen remain as you are. I can make it to the door with no trouble."

They ignored her and followed her out to the hall, watching like three worried mothers as she slipped into her coat and wrapped her scarf round her neck. Unconsciously, they all mirrored one another, their arms crossed over their chests, the same anxious expression on their faces. Nan bit her lower lip to stop from smiling.

"Thanks for dinner." She punctuated each word with a kiss on each man's cheek.

"I'd drive you if I had a car," Uncle Jamie said suddenly.

Nan's eyes twinkled. "I know you would, Uncle Jamie, and I thank you for the thought."

"Paulie, see your cousin to the tube station."

"Don't be ridiculous," Nan scoffed. "I'm perfectly capable of making it to the station on my own. Paulie doesn't need to be going out for no reason."

Evidently Granddad saw that it would be no good to argue with her. He pursed his lips. "All right, but at least take a hat. It's freezing out there."

"Fine, fine." She grabbed a thick, knit cap and clapped it down on her head. "Happy? I really have to be going."

"Oh, yes, yes. Rush off. You're an important detective, we know all about it." Will tried to sound as if he were joking, but he sounded every bit as nervous as he felt.

Nan knew him too well not to see the worry in his eyes. He would never get over his fears, not if she lived to be the oldest copper in the force with nary a scratch to her name. The best way to deal with him was to acknowledge his fears and reassure him. It didn't really work, but it was the best way.

Another shrill burst from her beeper prevented her from lingering a moment longer. _REPORT IMMEDIATELY ST JOHN'S WOOD. THIS MEANS NOW. IKE._

* * *

_L_ou had been in the police force for a while now, but she was continually amazed at the treatment officers were forced to put up with from the very public they were attempting to serve and protect. She stood at the back of the crowd of AMIT officers with Kid at her side, both of them mesmerised at the display being put on by the burglary victims as they by turns pleaded with and berated the police.

There were six of them, three married couples: Christos and Eve Andropolous, Thomas and Helena Claussen, Lord Everett and Lady Cecilia Harbury, each of them more elegant than the last. Lou had never seen people like this, not even in the highest society of Manhattan: every move these people made screamed wealth and elegance and power and background. It wasn't even that they were dressed in particularly fancy clothes—although Lou was sure she spied a discreet Armani label on the cuff of Thomas Claussen's blazer—or that they displayed their jewellery in a flashy way that caught your attention. The kind of money these people had, Lou reflected, must be the kind of money that made its mark on you in a way you never even realised.

"I really feel the police have not made sufficient inquiries into our cases," Christos Andropolous was saying, or rather yelling, to Emma.

"And the inquiries you _have_ made have hardly got you anywhere, have they?" added Everett Harbury. "Our Maurice is dead, and my wife's prized emerald is still missing..."

"With all due respect, Superintendent Shannon," Eve Andropolous said, not sounding at all respectful, "we feel that your team are hardly adequate for such a case as this."

And so on. Lou was amazed at Emma Shannon's poise. Through it all she had remained as calm and collected as if the three couples were paying a social call. Perched on the countertop before them, Emma sat Indian-style, looking like a very bored yet very polite schoolgirl. She cocked her head to one side and listened attentively, though it was clear she wasn't really interested. She allowed each of them to have their turn at her, and never once opened her mouth to interrupt. Somehow, Lou knew that despite this, Emma had the upper hand and was merely biding her time.

The St John's Wood incident room was a large, open space with no doors. The voices of the outraged aristocrats drowned out all other sounds, so that when they were suddenly joined by the tall man in the jeans and t-shirt, he went relatively unnoticed for the first few minutes. Only Lou spotted him, interest piqued. He had reddish-blond hair and a handsome face vaguely reminiscent of an Old West cowboy, somewhat rugged, but with a city polish. He tossed his heavy jacket on a nearby chair and cleared his throat.

Lou nudged Kid in the ribs. "Who's that?"

"That's Sam Cain. He's the Chief Inspector here in St John's Wood."

"Excuse me!" Sam Cain called loudly over the din of voices. "Excuse me!"

It took a moment before the arguing stopped. Curious eyes turned to him. He was taking it all in stride. "I'm DCI Cain," he said, though no one had asked. "What can I help you folks with?" He had an American accent, a prominent Midwestern drawl that wouldn't have been so noticeable to Lou, except that it stood out in such sharp contrast.

"He's American?" Lou whispered to Kid.

Kid nodded. "He was with the San Francisco Police Department. He came over on one of these exchanges about ten years ago and liked London so much he decided to stay. He's been with St John's Wood since he got promoted to DCI about three years ago. He's one of the best, a really great bloke."

"…appreciate your anxiety and impatience," Sam Cain was saying. "I think I speak for both Superintendent Shannon and myself when I say that your concerns are not going unheeded. We are following every possible lead we are presented with. We have officers working round the clock, here in this station and in Ladbroke Grove, and as you yourselves know, we still have officers and forensic specialists combing the grounds of your own houses."

'"But Chief Inspector," Thomas Claussen began in protest.

Sam held up his hand. "Mr Claussen, please."

Emma hopped down off the desk and leaned back against it, almost lazily. She said, "Please…you're going to have to let us do our jobs. I apologise none of our leads have come to fruition, but they will. They _will_. I have no doubt about that. There is no such thing as the perfect crime. Whoever did this is going to slip soon, and we'll be there to catch him. I can't promise you we'll recover your jewels, but what I can promise is that the murderer of Robert Campbell, Ethan Cutler, and Maurice Fitzhugh—who is no doubt one and the same—will be caught. And when he is—"

"Guv! Guv!"

It was Ike, bursting into the room like something out of a comedy routine, his knit cap suddenly flying off his closely-shorn head. His eyes were wide and he clutched a piece of paper in his hands. He slid across the floor and stopped by Emma, handing the paper to her. She scanned it briefly and lifted her head. There was a sudden blaze of fire in her green eyes. She looked like a different person, more alive, even more impressive somehow. The nonchalance had gone.

"I want Kidwell, Kenworthy, McCloud, and Hickok down to Covent Garden market immediately," she said. "There's a pawnbroker there who's just been offered the purchase of Lady Cecilia Harbury's African Waterfall emerald."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Are these times contagious?  
I've never been this bored before  
Is this the prize I've waited for?_

"Run" - Collective Soul

* * *

_"S_o… Where were you when you got the page to come to the police station?"

Nan could tell Jimmy was trying to keep his voice merely curious, but he was failing miserably. She tried to ignore the conversation to no avail; Pete had the radio off and Lou's and Jimmy's voices carried clearly up to the front of the car.

"Kid and I were at a tube station, actually, on our way to dinner." Lou sounded shyly confiding.

"Really?" The one word choked from Jimmy's lips.

Lou continued, blissfully unaware, "Apparently there's a great Italian place in Leicester Square."

"But you don't like Italian."

Nan sensed, rather than saw, the blush on Lou's face. She answered, "Well, it's not my favourite, but I—"

"You once said that you'd rather chew glass than spaghetti and meatballs."

"I wasn't going to order spaghetti and meatballs, Jimmy," Lou said, impatience creeping into her voice.

Pete and Nan exchanged a brief look of apprehension.

"We're nearly there," Pete said loudly, uncomfortably.

Jimmy was not to be deterred. "Guess it's a good thing you ran into Kidwell first thing, isn't it? He can open you up to the wonders of Italian cuisine."

"Jimmy, what is this?" snapped Lou.

"I said we're nearly there."

Jimmy's words came out as a bark. "Yeah, we heard you."

"Best to stay out of it, Pete," Nan whispered.

"And you can stay out of it, too."

"What are you getting mad at her for?" demanded Lou. "Apparently it's me you've got a problem with."

"I just thought it'd be nice for you and me to get together on your first night in England. I thought we could have dinner and catch up."

"Jimmy!" Now Lou sounded exasperated. "It's been less than a week! I drove you to the airport, remember? It's not like there's a whole lot of catching up to do."

"Fine."

"You know I want to do some sightseeing with you. We talked about that last week. It's only my first day, Jimmy, it's not worth getting upset over."

"Maybe not to you. I had plans."

"You had plans? You never said anything about them to me."

"It was going to be a surprise."

"Why would you care about surprising me?"

If Jimmy wasn't careful, he was going to reveal himself completely, and Nan was pretty certain that however desperate he was, he didn't want to do that just yet. Not in a car with his co-workers, on their way to interrogate a witness, and certainly not with Louise angry with him. She decided to intercept. "What did you think of Westminster Abbey, Louise?"

After a moment, Lou answered, perhaps realising that Nan was trying to diffuse the situation. "It was beautiful," she said. "I didn't get to see inside, and I wish I had—"

She was interrupted by a seething Jimmy. "Why do you insist on jumping into the middle of things?" he demanded of Nan.

Pete turned to glare at Jimmy briefly before focusing on the road again. "Why are you always on at her?"

"Pete, it's fine," Nan said. She was determined not to rise to the bait.

"No, actually it's _not_ fine," Jimmy retorted. "I asked a question and I really want to know the answer. _Why_? Why are you always poking your nose into situations that don't concern you?"

Lou put a hand on his arm. "Now, Jimmy…"

"Don't 'now, Jimmy' me, Lou. I've been dealing with you for a week, Kenworthy, and I've had it up to _here_. With your patronising and your interference and your condescending looks, and your—"

"_My_ condescending looks?" Nan exploded then and whirled around in her seat to face Jimmy, who sat behind her. "_My_ condescending looks?" she said again. "If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black then I don't know what is."

"Any condescension I've displayed has merely been a reaction to _yours_."

Lou shrank back against the seat, her eyes grown huge with trepidation. "Okay, guys, this is getting a little out of hand…"

"Well, I'm sorry if we've ruined your perfect, precious, Italian-eating day, Lou," replied Jimmy with the utmost sarcasm.

"Jimmy, that's enough!"

The four officers fell silent after that. The air in the car was thick with tension. For her part, Lou was bewildered. Not only by Jimmy's strange reaction to her outing with Kid, but by the bitterness that had erupted so quickly between Jimmy and Nan Kenworthy. Kid had confided in her that the two tended to rile each other up like an old married couple, but he hadn't mentioned that their rows ever escalated to this level.

When Pete stopped the car, Lou looked around for her first sight of Covent Garden. In the bustling hours of Saturday evening, it was impressive. Throngs of people pushed past them as they stepped out of the car. There was a rather festive atmosphere in the air despite the chill that had descended with the night.

"This is an odd place for a pawnbroker's," Nan commented.

"Just down this way," Pete Binchy said. "Place called Atherton's."

Atherton's was rather posh for a pawn shop, particularly in the middle of Covent Garden. The walls were lined with cherry-wood panelling and antique grandfather clocks. There were brilliantly shiny display cases full of all manner of odds and ends—watches, earrings, bracelets, rings, everything very high-class. The carpet was a plush forest green, two inches thick, and the huge mirrors on the wall were framed in gold. A far cry from the usual dark, dingy, seedy shops run by London's pawnbrokers.

Nigel Atherton, the owner, emerged from the back room. Unlike his shop, he was the height of casual in his jeans and trainers, his fashionably-cut hair in haphazard order. He looked to be in his early 30s. When he saw the four officers, his eyes lit up.

"Are you from the police station, then?" He had a clipped, carefully controlled East End accent.

All four quickly whipped out their respective badges and Pete made quick introductions. "And you're Mr Atherton?" he finished.

"Nigel. At your service." He extended his hand.

"We understand you were offered the purchase of an emerald earlier this afternoon," Jimmy said.

Nigel Atherton nodded. "Yes. The African Waterfall emerald. Purchased by Lord Harbury at a jewellery store in New York City in '96. It's very famous, you see; it was all over the papers when he bought it, that's how I knew what it was."

"How famous is it?" Jimmy wanted to know.

"Ever heard of the Hope Diamond?" Nigel replied importantly. "The African Waterfall emerald is worth nearly half that."

They were dutifully impressed, but something struck a chord with each of them. By some unspoken agreement no one vocalised the thought, but after a quick glance exchanged among them, Jimmy continued with the questioning. "Mr Atherton, can you please describe the people who approached you with the emerald?"

"It was just the one chap, actually, Lieutenant. You're a Yank, aren't you?" he asked suddenly, slightly interested. He smiled and went on, "Yes, just the one chap. About so high—" Nigel gestured to indicate someone about six feet tall, "and, I don't know, he probably outweighed me by about two or three stone. Very blond hair. Nice enough bloke, really. Got a bit angry when I told him I wouldn't buy it—I can't afford to, you see—but otherwise a nice guy. Strange scar 'cross his face as well."

Jimmy's and Nan's eyes met. They frowned at each other.

"How long would you say this gentleman was in here, Mr Atherton?" asked Nan.

Atherton scrunched up his forehead thoughtfully. "Oh, five minutes, most."

"You're remarkably sure of his appearance for only five minutes with the man," Jimmy commented.

"I've got a good memory, I do. Besides, once I realised he was trying to flog stolen goods off on me, I knew I'd better get a good look at him so I could notify the police."

"And yet you didn't try to detain him with the emerald while he was here? Maybe phone the police?" Lou prodded.

"Didn't think of it," Atherton admitted, but he looked neither ashamed nor regretful. He merely shrugged, a calculated shrug that looked as if he had practised it. "I was mainly concerned I didn't get caught with the thing m'self."

"Did he make any comments as to where he obtained the emerald?" questioned Louise.

Atherton snorted derisively. "D'you think he's likely to? Give the man some credit, miss."

"That's Lieutenant McCloud to you, mate," Pete said firmly.

Nan stepped closer. "Did the man say anything else at all, Mr Atherton?"

Interest flared in Atherton's eyes at the sight of Nan. She was really lovely, nice shape on her, and the little American bird was quite a looker as well. He focused his attention on the two women. "He did indeed, Inspector. I gave him a flat refusal and he said he knew of a lady in Highgate who'd gladly take it off his hands."

"Another pawnbroker?"

"How was this gentleman dressed, Mr Atherton?"

"What kind of car was he driving?"

"What sort of accent did he have?"

Jimmy and Nan's questions flew thick and fast.

"Oi, oi, hold on a minute," Atherton protested. "One question at a time, folks." He chuckled lightly. "First off, he didn't say if it was another pawn dealer or not; as to what sort of car he was driving—he wasn't, he was walking. As to how he was dressed, well, nice leather coat on, cashmere sweater, I think. Fancy dresser, really."

"And the accent?" pondered Nan.

"Brummie."

Jimmy looked confused. "Brummie?"

"From Birmingham," Nan translated. "Is there anything else you can share that might be of use to us, Mr Atherton?"

"Well…" Atherton trailed off reluctantly, looking away. "There is…well, I did…that is, I did buy a couple diamond rings off him."

"May we see them, please?" asked Pete.

"I didn't reckon they were stolen as well, you see. They're just a couple of rings, pretty new, not fancy-looking or anything."

"We'd like to be the judge of that, please, Mr Atherton."

"Well, all right."

The rings were produced from behind the big counter. Atherton held them out in the palm of his hand. Nan, Pete, Jimmy, and Lou bent their heads over the man's open palm. They issued a collective sigh that seemed to say, 'Now we're on to something.'

"It's them," Jimmy said simply.

Pete nodded. "We'll need to be confiscating these, Mr Atherton."

"If you must."

There was something about his attitude that once again struck Nan as wrong. Something a little 'off,' something that didn't quite fit in with the picture Atherton was trying to paint.

As the officers departed, Pete Binchy shook Atherton firmly by the hand and said in a low, serious voice, "You'll be nearby should we need to reach you, won't you, Nigel?"

Atherton blinked, finally a bit subdued. "Cert-certainly, Sergeant. Of course I will." He laughed a fake, cheerful laugh. "I've got nowhere to go, have I? Got a shop to run."

"I'm not buying it," Jimmy said when they were outside again. They stood under the glaring light of a street lamp a few feet away from the shop. His breath came out in cloudy wisps against the air. "Why would someone go to all the trouble to rip off an emerald worth millions and then try to sell it in a Covent Garden pawnshop? Granted, it's a pretty nice pawnshop, but still…"

"Just didn't know any better?" Lou offered, but they all knew she was merely providing an argument for the sake of speculation.

"It just doesn't make any sense. And that Atherton gives me the creeps," Nan said. "Besides which, he's a terrible liar."

Lou shivered in the cold. "Those weird eyes," she added. "And the way he smiled at you, Nan…"

Nan laughed. Jimmy was surprised to hear such a light-hearted sound coming from her. "He was a nasty little bugger, wasn't he?"

Pete was shaking his head to himself. "None of it," he was muttering. "None of it makes any sense."

* * *

_F_rom behind the curtains of the shop door, Nigel Atherton watched the huddled group of officers. They stood talking for several minutes, deep in discussion. The lovely Inspector with the blue eyes was standing with her back to him, but the small American bird was facing toward him. She looked very attractive in the street light, cheeks all flushed, hair blowing in the wind. The American man was looking at her protectively.

From the back of the shop, the phone began to ring. Nigel shut the curtains and shuffled into the little room.

"Hallo?"

The voice was low and harsh, cruelly masculine. "I'm staring right at them. Why haven't they gone yet?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"What did you tell them?"

"Exactly what you told me to tell them!"

"Then why are they standing around outside the shop?"

"I _told_ you—I _don't know_. It shouldn't be much longer. It's too effing cold outside to stand around chit-chatting."

There was a pause. "I think they're leaving."

"What'd I tell you?"

"Who's the tall girl?"

"Ehm…" Nigel wracked his brain. "Inspector Anna something-or-other…Kennard maybe. Ken-something."

"Anna..."

Nigel snapped his fingers. "Kenworthy! That was it, Kenworthy."

"Anna Kenworthy. Hmmm...Inspector, did you say?"

"Yes, with something, some kind of team or something. Area Incorporated Team, something like that, I can't recall."

A snippet of laughter rang down the wire. "Area Major Incident Team. Honestly, Nige, what do I keep you for?"

Nigel was miffed. "For the dirty work, I suppose."

"Well, she's lovely, this Anna Kenworthy."

"I don't know, I quite fancied the little one."

"Yes, she's lovely as well, but this Anna Kenworthy…" A slight purr of satisfaction curled through the phone. "I've always had a fancy for pale English roses."

"Well, she's no shy, retiring thing, I can tell you. She's quite the interrogator. She and that big American bloke were working together like a pair of vultures."

Another chortle of laughter. "Tough little thing, is she? Well, I like that in a woman as well."

Nigel rolled his eyes and said nothing.

"Did they take the diamonds?"

"Of course. You should've seen their faces! Like they'd hit the jackpot."

"That ought to keep them happy for a while."

"Are you planning to give it all away?"

"Don't be daft. Of course not. But you've got to know how to play the Old Bill, Nigel my boy. There's a fine art to it. Throw them the old red herring—or in this case a diamond ring."

"Well. You're the boss."

"I try," was the modest response.

"So what's next then, eh?"

"As if I'd discuss it over the phone with you, of all people."

"Sorry, boss."

"Anyway, I must be going."

Nigel switched on the telly and began flipping through the evening programmes. There was a nice comedy special on BBC-2. He settled back in his chair and took a swig of lukewarm ale. "So, where you off to then?"

"A couple friends are throwing a party."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_There you were on your own_

_Looking like you were the only one around_

_I had to be with you_

_Nothing else that I could do_

_I should have gone away_

_But I knew I had to stay_

"Last Train to London" – Electric Light Orchestra

* * *

_T_here was no hope of rest on Sunday, not with Eve Andropolous's antique diamond rings recovered and Nigel Atherton's statement under their belts. Sunday afternoon found the forensic officers once more combing the grounds of the houses that had been burgled. Louise and Nan were assigned to visit the Andropolouses.

It was a grey, rainy day. The rain fell in slow, fat droplets, muffling the sounds of the cars on the street. Nan drove them to the Andropolous house in relative silence; both women were exhausted, and a little shy in each other's company.

As they drove through the streets of London, Louise finally spoke. "I wonder why the Superintendent didn't send you out with Binchy today?"

"Guv likes to mix and match her officers," Nan responded with a small smile. "She likes to see how certain people work together. She has a theory that we shouldn't get too comfortable with one partner; she wants to be able to throw us in with someone else if she has to."

"Ah. Very clever."

"She's brilliant." Nan's voice was full of admiration. "One of only four female Superintendents in the whole of London and as sharp as they come."

Lou was surprised. "Only four?"

"It's a tough job for a woman to break into over here. Is it better in America?"

"Maybe a little," Lou reflected. "There are a lot more high-ranking women, I know that for sure."

"It's hard to get promoted to begin with. An officer can stay in uniform for years before they get promoted any higher than PC—Police Constable, that is. As for detective, God, you're lucky if you get there by the time you're thirty. Getting promoted is a real bugger."

Lou raised her eyebrow and studied Nan. Nan looked to be on the fair side of thirty.

With a quick glance, Nan caught Lou looking at her, and she laughed. "I know what you're thinking," she acknowledged. "I'm only just thirty." She flushed and said the next quietly, "I was top in my class out of the training centre. I never even got fitted for a uniform." She was demure; there was not the least hint of vanity in her voice.

Nonetheless, Lou was impressed. "Amazing," she said. "What was your ranking in your class?"

She could have sworn she saw Nan blush. "Ehm… In the top ten."

Grinning, Lou pressed further. "And where in the top ten were you?"

Nan ducked her head as she made a left turn. When she spoke, it came out a mumble. Lou craned her head closer.

"It sounded like you said 'first.'"

"I did."

Amazing. This tall, graceful woman with the figure of a supermodel and the poise of a queen was not only a police officer, but apparently a damn good one. Thinking of her own climb up the ladder of the NYPD, Lou asked, "How long were you a Detective Constable?"

"A little over a year. I was based in Hammersmith at the time—with Sam Cain, actually. He wasn't a DCI then, of course. They moved me to AMIT and Shannon had me at DS shortly after that. I thought I'd probably be there for a while, but then there was this case last fall." Nan looked over at Louise. "You don't want to hear this."

"I do, actually."

After a moment, Nan said, "It was a drug trafficking ring. Really nasty business. Not that they're ever nice, of course, but this one was…I don't know," she shivered, "worse than most. Evil. We worked on that one for three months. Undercover work, stake-outs, tailing suspects, the whole bit. It was exhausting, stressful work. I'd go home at the end of the day just completely drained."

Pausing, Nan thought back to those days. Days when she'd let herself into her flat in tears, lying down on her sofa thinking of those poor kids wasting away on drugs, thinking of those men and women who fed and promoted addiction. She'd been lost and nearly broken. Everyone on the team had felt that way, and it was then that she and Pete Binchy had turned to each other, perhaps out of sheer desperation, the need to feel something other than helpless.

"Go on," urged Lou.

Nan shrugged. "After that case, Guv saw to it that we were all promoted. Every last one of us. And that's why you see a DI in front of you today, a good three or four years before I would normally have earned the promotion."

"Was it rough for you, being a woman?"

"No more than it should have been. I had some trouble before I joined AMIT—the men at Hammersmith weren't always very friendly. They either made my life hell or ignored me completely. Some of them were all right, but you know, even in this day and age it's still considered a man's profession. Having a woman around makes the men uncomfortable."

More likely, Lou reflected, having a woman who looked like Nan Kenworthy around made the men uncomfortable.

"It all changed when I joined AMIT, though," Nan was saying. "I'm not sure why, maybe it has something to do with the men on the team being the best of the best. You know, they were above all that battle-between-the-sexes bollocks. They've always been brilliant with me, like a bunch of mates. A bit overprotective sometimes, but brilliant."

Lou laughed. Nan's words hit close to home. "I know overprotective. The guys on the STF are really great with me, not a misogynist in the bunch. But they drive me crazy trying to protect me." But there was a smile on her face. "Teaspoon tries to deal with that as well as he can, but I think sometimes even he worries about me getting into certain situations."

"I've heard Jimmy Hickok speak very highly of Chief Hunter."

"He's a feisty old guy, but we love him," Lou said with an affectionate shake of her head. "You don't get a better chief than Teaspoon. He's like a father in a lot of ways. Of course, I never had one. My dad ran off when I was pretty little, and then my mom died a few years ago."

"My parents were killed when I was three. Car crash."

They exchanged the information softly and no murmurs of 'I'm sorry' or 'How terrible for you' followed. Their sympathies were evident without words, and no more was said on the ride to the Andropolous home.

* * *

_T_he pub was fairly quiet. Nan had an entire booth to herself and had decided to use it to full advantage: her papers were spread out across the table, an empty pint and plate resting against the wall.

She was poring over the statements from those who had been at the Harburys' luncheon during the burglary and the murder of Maurice Fitzhugh. She had already gone over statements from the party-goers who had attended the Andropolous and Claussen parties. It was all the same: no one had seen or heard anything. There was plenty of speculation to be had, and the revellers had freely discussed their own theories as to whom the culprit was, but there was nothing concrete here. Nothing.

Nan rubbed her eyes and took another gulp of gin and tonic. Her mind wandered back to the conversation she and Emma Shannon had had that afternoon. She winced, still remembering Emma's harsh, forceful voice insisting that she stop continually bickering with James Hickok.

"I'm serious, Kenworthy," Emma had said, "it's got to stop. You and Jimmy Hickok are acting like a pair of children. You can't get near each other without the venom flying, and maybe it was vaguely amusing at first, but I'm sick to death of it now. You're both damn good officers and I'm fond of you both. But it's _got_ to _stop_, do you hear me? And I don't care how. You two work it out yourselves however you want. But I don't want any more of it at work, is that clear? I mean it, Nan. You're a professional and it's time you started acting like one again."

Shuddering, Nan downed the last of her drink and lined it up with the other empty dishes. She was feeling a bit woozy, but still fairly clear-headed. Shoving her specs back up her nose, she set to checking the statements again.

A glass clinked down on the table before her. She looked up to see the bartender smiling at her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't order anything else."

"I know," the man said, still smiling. "This is compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." He moved aside so that Nan could look.

It was Hickok. Like something out of a black-and-white film, he turned from the bar and raised his glass to her with a wry smile and a nod.

The bartender tottered off back to the bar and Jimmy stood. God, he was coming over. Nan scrambled to straighten up the mess of papers. When he stopped at the edge of the table, she peered at him over the top of her specs and said, "Are we Cary Grant today, Lieutenant?"

"A peace offering, Inspector."

"Been talking to Guv, have you?"

Jimmy smiled sheepishly.

"Well, have a seat," she offered with evident reluctance.

Jimmy settled himself and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it to the edge of the booth. Nan blinked hard. Maybe it was all the gin, but suddenly Jimmy had a nice set of shoulders on him, very broad, yet not grossly muscular.

"Find anything?"

"Hmm?"

Jimmy pointed to the papers. "Find anything?"

"No," she said with a frustrated sigh. "I've looked at these statements for the past two hours—not to mention all the times I've looked them over since this case started. No joy. None at all."

"No one saw anything," Jimmy said. "That's a bad thing in a murder case."

Nan grinned. "Truer words were never spoken, Lieutenant."

"Are these the Claussen statements?"

"No, Harbury."

"Did you read Victoria Westward's?" Jimmy sifted quickly through the sheets till he found the one he was looking for. He pushed it toward her.

"About fifteen times." Nan picked it up again and studied it. "There's something in it that strikes me as a bit odd, but I can't think what."

Jimmy snapped his fingers. "Exactly! You get that feeling, too? I read that thing a dozen times and there was always something about it that made me feel strange. I just don't know what."

"Irritating, isn't it? I hate that feeling. And we call ourselves detectives."

For a moment they each inspected a separate sheet of Victoria Westward's statement. Then Jimmy looked up at Nan and the words died on his lips. She had her head bent forward and was rubbing at the back of her neck, her eyes closed. Her wire-rimmed glasses made her face look young and vulnerable. For the first time since he had met her, Jimmy was vaguely attracted to her. Before now she had always been sharp edges and angles, with no softness about her, a frenetically driven woman with guarded eyes and a scathing tongue. She looked very different now. Maybe it was the beer, although it was only his second.

"Nan…about what the boss said."

Nan made a face. "Yes, I know. We've been dreadful, haven't we? Like children picking at each other."

"That's probably a pretty accurate description."

"Well, you've just been so _irritating_ since you got here!"

"And you've just been such a little ray of sunshine yourself."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," she replied with a stifled giggle. "I was perfectly prepared to be nice, but then you were so awful just because I was late picking you up, and that set me off."

"You were two hours late!"

"It was an accident! I _forgot_!"

"Well," he admitted grudgingly, "maybe I was a bit out of line. We all make mistakes."

"Thank you _so_ much. Apology accepted."

For the first time ever, they shared a laugh. She was even lovelier when she laughed than when she smiled. There was something about the breathless, energetic way she did it that made Jimmy think maybe it wasn't such a rare occurrence after all. Maybe there was more to Nan Kenworthy than he had realised.

Somehow, slowly, they managed to begin an actual, real conversation, one that had nothing to do with the case at hand. Jimmy spoke easily of growing up in the Midwest and his early decision to join the police force. He mentioned his first wife, Rosemary, and their subsequent, acrimonious divorce. He told her how his team at the NYPD had become a surrogate family, how he felt fond of Teaspoon in particular, and looked upon him as a father figure. He said nothing of Louise.

In turn, Nan told him briefly of her parents' deaths and being raised by her grandfather and his brother. She told him that Paulie, the son of her father's brother, lived in Hampstead with Granddad and Uncle Jamie because he had refused to leave England when his parents had emigrated to the U.S. Her reasons for joining the police force seemed to mirror Jimmy's. She side-stepped the subject of Pete Binchy, but did mention that an office romance had backfired on her.

And through it all, the bartender kept them supplied with drinks, so that by the time the pub neared closing time, the row of gin and tonic glasses by Nan had grown to four, joined by a half-drained pint of bitter and Jimmy's collection of five empty pints of Guinness. They had shared a large portion of chips and that too was empty. They gazed at each other through cloudy eyes.

"Well," Jimmy remarked, surveying the mess they had created, "I've heard that whiskey talks, but I had no idea it would make me tell a good chunk of my life story to a near-complete stranger."

Nan giggled drunkenly. She felt very warm and cosy inside, a bit dizzy but very nice indeed. "Bet you never thought it'd be me you confided in, did you?"

"Not in a million years," he chuckled.

"My granddad always says there's nothing worse than a drunken woman," slurred Nan, leaning lazily against the table. "I'd hate for him to see me now."

They laughed drunkenly.

"But here's one thing I want to know… Why haven't you mentioned Louise?"

"Louise?"

Nan hiccuped. "Well, you love her, right?"

"Sure I do. I've loved her for years." Jimmy shrugged sleepily, not bothering to issue a denial. "But it's a lost cause. Somewhere along the line, I lost that window of opportunity. I've known that for a while, but I didn't like to admit it, I guess. Anyway, I think there's something cooking up between her and Kidwell."

"Oh, definitely," Nan agreed, smiling softly. "You know, I once had quite the thing for Kid."

Jimmy groaned. "Aw, you too?"

"Well, he's quite lovely, you know. He's a great bloke." Nan's reply was indignant.

"And...?"

"It never happened. I never said anything to him about it. Then I got involved with Pete—"

"Pete _Binchy_?"

"Shh…" she instructed him with another tipsy giggle. "Don't interrupt, Lieutenant, it's ever so rude." She stretched out, her long arms reaching over the back of the booth. Then she regarded him with her head tilted thoughtfully to one side. "You know, you're quite good-looking, Jimmy, for a yank."

"That's high praise coming from you." He felt ridiculously pleased. It had to be the Guinness. "And by way of returning the compliment, I'm pretty sure you're the most adorable thing I've ever seen in those glasses."

Nan leaned forward over the table. Her eyes were slightly out of focus. "It's probably because my blood is pulsing with gin right now, but I'd really like to kiss you, Jimmy."

It sounded like the most natural request in the world; Jimmy had been about to ask it himself. He gave a highly intoxicated nod. "I'd like to kiss you, too, Nan."

"I've never wanted to kiss you before," she continued, rambling now. "I thought you were pretty repellent up to now, but…well, you're something of a dish, aren't you?"

"Some people think so." His movements were sluggish now. The alcohol was descending heavily on him.

Nan's heart beat wildly as they leaned closer to one another. Her nostrils filled with Jimmy's clean scent, vaguely of aftershave, but with a nice, woodsy something that was all his own. She did want to kiss him—terribly—and it startled her and made her afraid. Afraid, because she was almost positive it was nothing to do with the gin and everything to do with Jimmy himself. Visions of Pete danced before her eyes, and she remembered her unrequited longing for Kid, and she knew this would be a mistake. All of this. The second his lips touched hers it would be a mistake, and he would know it, and she would know it, it would probably be evident to the whole world. They had nothing in common, up to two hours ago they had only ever been at each other's throats. It was a mistake. She had only just got over her relationship with Pete, and Jimmy was most certainly still in love with Louise. It was a _mistake_.

But the time for protests was over, because Jimmy had reached across the table and drawn her head between his hands, and he was kissing her. His lips were on hers and they were warm and soft and sweet, and it was a mistake, but it felt good, better than she had thought it would, and so Nan said nothing.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_How do you numb your skin_

_after the warmest touch?_

_How do you slow your blood_

_after the body rush?_

"Insensitive" - Jann Arden

* * *

_I_t took a moment for Jimmy to remember where he was when he woke up. The light was streaming in past the curtains with the pearly, dusky glow of a rainy morning. He stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room, gazing at the chandelier, and then he remembered. He reached his arm out next to him and came up with only cool sheets and a rumpled blanket. Lifting his head, he peered over at the space that had, until very recently, been occupied.

"Nan?" he called out softly. "Nan?"

He heard the sounds of the shower running. With a sigh, he flopped back amongst the pillows and yawned, stretching amid the soft cotton sheets. Images played through his mind: kissing Nan, tasting the slight bitterness of the gin and tonic on her lips…folding up the pile of papers…catching the tube back to his hotel, making out like a couple of teenagers…and then afterward, once they were in his room…Nan had been like nothing he'd ever imagined.

He hadn't once thought of Lou. From the moment their lips had met, there had been only Nan.

Lou. Jimmy stopped there, thinking of her brown eyes and the way she smiled at him when she thought he was being ridiculous. The smell of her and the touch of her hand on his shoulder, and that funny little laugh of hers. He had loved her so long, it felt strange to know that somehow his feelings had changed, and that his love was growing undeniably less with each moment that passed.

The question was, was it love for Nan that had changed him? Impossible. He hardly knew her—just yesterday he had considered her the most obnoxious and unappealing woman in England. Love was impossible, but it was something. It had to be something, because the memory of her was still fresh in his mind, her kisses and her smiles and the touch of her skin against his and the taste of her on his tongue. He hadn't been so rash and impetuous since his college days; he was a little ashamed of himself. But rules and propriety and common sense had not existed last night; nothing had existed except the two of them and this new, strange feeling between them.

He was nervous about facing her first thing on the 'morning after' and yet he was eager to talk to her, to reassure himself that last night had not only been special to him, but to her as well. Anxious and perplexed, unsure of what lay in store for them on this new path they had chosen, Jimmy sat up in bed, his blood pulsing in his veins, rushing from his pounding head. What would he say? Never mind that, what would _she_ say? How would they work together now? How would they work side by side with Pete and Lou? What if last night had only been some stupid, drunken mistake?

The shower suddenly shut off and Jimmy heard the creak of the curtain as it was pushed aside. There were a few moments of subdued sounds from within the bathroom, followed by several minutes of a loudly blasting hair dryer, and then the door opened.

With his first sight of her, Jimmy relaxed and smiled to himself. She was in the same t-shirt from last night, a towel slung around her hips, her clean, fluffy hair lying in waves around her face. Her skin looked fresh and clean and exotically pale. He could smell the heady scent of her lotion even from across the room. When she saw him, Nan stopped short, frozen, eyes wide.

"Good morning," Jimmy greeted her softly. She was lovely. How could he ever have thought she was a harpy?

Nan jolted back to life then, and darted over to the chair where her trousers were folded. "Morning," she mumbled.

"You look pretty refreshed considering last night's drinking binge," he teased.

She smiled tremulously, looking at him over her shoulder as she began to slide her trousers on underneath the towel. "The Kenworthys have always managed to handle their liquor."

Jimmy was amused. "No need to be so modest," he said, indicating the towel still around her hips.

Without replying, Nan hitched her trousers up and then let the towel drop away before settling the buttons into place. She ran her hands through her hair and sat down.

"Why don't you come over here?" He patted the bed beside him.

"…I should be getting ready."

Jimmy suddenly felt ice cold. "Why? We have today off."

"Yeah, but I have, um, I have things to do. Errands, you know. Plans." Nan shoved her feet into her Doc Marten boots and began to lace them up, before pulling the legs of her black trousers down over her ankles and standing again. She was moving restlessly, as if her skin was the only thing keeping her in place.

"Nan, what's going on?"

She looked up then, at the hard catch in his voice. "What do you mean? Nothing's going on."

"Convince me." He rose from the bed, standing before her in his baggy pyjama trousers. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and glared at her.

"Convince you of what?" Nan asked breathlessly, more disturbed by the sight of him than she cared to admit to herself. "I'm just getting dressed."

"Really? Is that all? Because it looks to me like you're getting ready to run."

"Run? Why would I run?" Nan bit her lip and turned to the vanity, dragging the brush through her hair.

"I don't know. You tell me."

Staring into the mirror, Nan met Jimmy's eyes as he stood behind her. He was demanding honesty and it was the least she could give him. She turned back around, drawing in a deep breath. "I _have_ to go, Jimmy. You _must_ see that."

She was going to tell him it had all been a mistake; Jimmy could feel it in his bones. She was going to stand there and tell him that last night, this amazing new thing that had happened between them, was a mistake. In the cold light of day, with her gin-induced stupor behind her, Nan had seen the error of her ways. He didn't reply, though he knew she wanted him to agree with her.

"Jimmy, it was…a mistake."

There it was: _mistake_. And though he had been expecting the word, it didn't soften the blow. He winced as if it had been a physical thing. "I knew you were going to say that."

"We were drunk, Jimmy, and we were getting on really well, and that's a fatal combination sometimes. It's nobody's fault. Best just to put it behind us and move on. We're adults, aren't we? It's not as if we're in love."

She had him there, and he knew it. They weren't in love. Sudden physical attraction was no basis for a relationship, at least not in Jimmy's book, and apparently not in Nan's either. But for some reason that didn't make him feel a whole lot better.

Nan was watching him, her eyes searching his. He wasn't sure what emotions his face was betraying.

"You…you made me forget Lou."

The look that passed over her features was not a pleasant one. Her eyes flickered in irritation. "You'll forgive me if that compliment doesn't exactly make my head spin."

Acknowledging his poor choice of words, Jimmy groaned inwardly. If she had told him that he had made her forget about Pete Binchy, he wouldn't have thanked her for it either. "That came out all wrong…"

"My making you forget about Louise isn't much to recommend us for a relationship, Jimmy. Not that that's what you were asking for," she added hastily.

What he was asking for, Jimmy realised, was a chance. A chance to explore this new thing. 'Thing,' he reflected, was as yet the best word for it. This new, indefinable thing that had taken them both so completely by surprise.

"I think we need to talk," he said firmly.

"What is there to talk about?" She was sliding her pager over her belt loop, not meeting his gaze.

His hand was like a vise on her elbow. "Look at me, Nan. Now, you may be able to take this situation lightly, but I am _not_. I don't want you running out of here like this!"

Wrenching her arm away, Nan spoke huffily, "I am _not_ running out of here like _anything_. I have to be someplace."

"Where?" he demanded.

"My friend's house! What business is it of yours?"

It wasn't his business, but he wasn't willing to admit that. "You're making it up. I'll bet there isn't any friend to meet."

"I'm not making anything up! His name is Geoff Devanney. Would you like to phone him and verify my plans for the day?" Nan hoped fervently that he wouldn't take her up on the challenge. Poor, unsuspecting Geoff would be completely floored if Jimmy were to ring him up and start barking questions at him.

"You don't get off that easily, Nan. Jesus! I mean, this is ridiculous. You said yourself—we're two adults. Why can't we be grown-ups about this?"

"I'm being grown-up."

"You're running like a bat out of hell!"

"I'm acknowledging we made a mistake and I'm moving on!" she roared.

Maybe it was his ego, wounded at the thought that a woman would consider a night with him a mistake; maybe it was his pride or his dignity, he didn't know. But dammit, her words stung.

"Look… Jimmy… We have to forget about this. All of this. Pretend it never happened. Under any other circumstances, it wouldn't have. We hardly know each other… We _work_ together, for God's sake! Both very good reasons for keeping our mouths _shut_ about this and—"

"Is that it? Your relationship with Pete failed, and you don't want to get hurt again? Nan…look, I think this is worth exploring. I really do. Can you honestly say you don't? Last night was…come on, Nan, you _know_ what last night was."

Her lips pursed tightly together and she said nothing.

"Answer me: are you scared of another office romance?"

"What romance? Jimmy, we _slept_ together. You know as well as I do that in this day and age that's hardly a romance!"

They stood, glaring at each other, chests heaving, the tension thick in the air. Looking into her dark, dark blue eyes, seeing the rage and denial there, feeling the curious stirring in his own heart, Jimmy knew they were back at square one. Things weren't going to get any easier from here.

* * *

_E_mma Shannon was staring at the spilled contents of Ursula Truman's jewellery box. Jewellery crate was more like it, as Iain Langley had noted darkly. Like the previous victims of the recent thefts, the woman had not kept her precious baubles under lock and key, but tucked away in her bureau. Emma smiled wryly to herself and shook her head.

"Guv." DC Albarn was approaching her. "DCI Cain's just arrived. He's on his way up here."

"Thanks, Jason."

When she heard the familiar footsteps fall behind her, Emma had to carefully keep her pulse under control. She turned round in time to see Sam's handsome, rosy face emerging from the hallway.

"Hey there, Superintendent," he said upon meeting her bright eyes with his own. She loved his smooth, easy American drawl.

"Hello."

"Albarn tells me nothing was taken but Mrs Truman's uncut diamonds."

"That's right. Nothing else was disturbed."

"No bodies found?"

Emma shook her head. "We've searched from top to bottom."

"Then we can ascertain that the murders are not necessarily the pattern of the robberies."

As always, she admired the quick workings of his mind. It had taken him seconds to pick up on something other officers had missed entirely. "I think we can ascertain that, yes. Perhaps also we can conclude that the murder victims got in the way somehow."

"Yes," Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe they happened upon the burglar in the middle of his heist. When was the party again?"

"Saturday night."

He frowned. "Why have we just now been notified?"

"Apparently Mr and Mrs Truman left the party with their guests to spend Sunday in Berkshire. They didn't return until last night."

"Not a pleasant welcome home."

"No," she agreed, smiling.

"Still… At least they didn't have to come to find a dead body on top of everything else."

They regarded one another with friendly, professional smiles. Albarn paid them no heed, but continued inspecting the scene until he suddenly loped off out into the hallway. And then Sam moved closer to Emma, so close that they breathed the same rush of air. Sam bent his head and grazed Emma's lips with his own.

"Now that's a proper hello," he murmured breathily.

Emma grinned. "Very nice. Now back off, Chief Inspector, before we add new grist to the rumour mill. "

Laughing, Sam backed up a few paces. His eyes twinkled merrily. "You're looking wonderful today, Superintendent."

"I'm feeling all right, considering we still have no good leads and my boss is ready to tear my head off and feed it to a pack of wolves."

"Come on, Alcott's more reasonable than that."

"Not these days."

"You're working too hard, Emma."

"I know," she sighed. "And I don't mind, really. I'd just like a bit of a breather sometimes."

"How about you let me take you to dinner tonight?"

"Oh, Sam, that'd be lovely. But I can't."

"Surely we can wrap the day up by seven o'clock or so."

"I'm sure we could, but we really shouldn't. We need to just concentrate on the case at hand right now."

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were avoiding me, Emma."

"I'm not avoiding you," she replied tersely.

"I could kill Nan and Pete—"

"It's not Nan and Pete. Well," sighed Emma, "yes, it is. Sam, I can't reprimand them for an office fling and then go and have one myself."

Sam's jaw twitched. "Is that what this is? A fling?"

"Oh, you know what I mean! I have to hold myself to the same standards I hold them to."

"We're not on the same team, Emma!"

"We're on the same case! What's the difference? Besides, we're in charge. We have to set an example."

Cursing silently, Sam paced his way over to the other side of the room, head hung down, hands in his jacket pockets. Damn, but the woman was frustrating as hell.

"You understand, don't you?" she pleaded. "I can't lose the respect of my team. When everyone found out about Nan and Pete, things were so difficult! The team was nearly divided. I can't afford to have that happen again."

"We are not Nan and Pete, Emma. What we have is different and it's better. And you know I'd give up my damn team like _that_," Sam growled, illustrating with a snap of his fingers. "I don't care what any of them say about my personal life."

"It's a little different when you're a woman, Sam!"

"Those boys adore you, Emma. They'd do anything for you. They sure as hell wouldn't care if you had a relationship."

"Keep your voice down," she hissed.

"Emma, please—"

More footsteps were heard in the hallway. Emma raised her hand to silence him. Sam gazed at her helplessly, longing to brush away the long, red curl that fell into her face.

O'Hara entered the room, but he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him. Tall, with wavy blond hair and a figure like something out of an adolescent boy's dream, the woman's eyes darted nervously around the room as she followed O'Hara in.

"Rachel Dunne, Guv," Roddy said. "She'd like to come down and give a statement."

"How do you do, Miss Dunne," replied Emma. "I'm Superintendent Shannon, this is Chief Inspector Cain."

Rachel Dunne nodded her head. "Yes, hello. I beg your pardon, but I'd really like to get this over with." She was American, her lilting Southern accent softly grazing her words.

Sam asked, "Is there something in particular that you saw, Miss Dunne?"

"Nothing I saw," Rachel corrected him. She rubbed her arms, shivering. "Something I believe."

"Yes?" prompted Emma.

"I believe I know who's been committing these crimes. I believe it was my ex-husband."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_London loves  
the way people just fall apart  
London loves  
the way you just don't stand a chance  
London loves  
the mystery of a speeding car  
London loves  
the misery of a speeding heart_

"London Loves" - Blur

* * *

_R_achel Dunne was obviously a former smoker. She sat in the interview room fiddling with a pen as if it were a cigarette, rolling it between her fingers, touching it to her lips. Her eyes skimmed the room, resting briefly on the face of Inspector Andrew Kidwell as he sat before her. He was very calm and composed, having already offered the woman a cup of coffee and been refused. He sat with a pad of paper and pencil, leaning his shoulder against the wall, humming softly to himself and thinking of Louise.

"What are we waiting for?" Rachel whispered.

"DI Kenworthy's been paged to join us," Kid explained. "We have to have at least two officers present at any interrogation."

Rachel looked visibly startled at the word 'interrogation.'

"Not to worry, Ms Dunne. It's not as severe a process as it sounds." Kid smiled.

Rachel relaxed, admiring the younger man's broad, handsome grin. "Okay."

Kid checked his watch. "Shouldn't be but a minute or two more, Ms Dunne—"

"Please, call me Rachel."

"Rachel," he agreed. "I'm not sure where DI Kenworthy is, but she's very reliable. I'm sure she'll be here momentarily."

"Could we… Could Ms Shannon be here?" Rachel had liked the Superintendent's kind eyes and gentle manner.

"I'm afraid Superintendent Shannon's been detained at the Truman home. It happened to be that DI Kenworthy and I are free at the moment."

Rachel grimaced. "This is all so much more complicated than I thought it would be. You see, I heard about Ursula and Dean being robbed, and I—well, I didn't expect Sergeant O'Hara to just let me come in, and I—"

"No need to explain just yet, Ms Dunne. Plenty of time for details when DI Kenworthy arrives."

The woman smiled shakily. "Yes, of course."

"If you don't mind my asking, where are you from?"

"Nebraska. A little old west town called Sweetwater."

Kid's eyes lit with interest. "Really? I've always been fascinated by the Old West. You know, gunfights, shoot-out at the OK Corral, that mail system with the horses and the boys running back and forth, and the…" Kid's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "What was that called?"

Despite herself, Rachel grinned a real grin. "The Pony Express," she supplied.

"That's it! The Pony Express. Fascinating stuff, that."

"Funnily enough, Sweetwater was part of the original route."

"You're joking!"

Rachel shook her head. "As a matter of fact, an ancestor of mine was station mistress at the Sweetwater station."

"Fascinating," Kid said again. He appeared truly interested. Before he could comment further, however, they were joined by a dishevelled Nan. She was a disparate form from that of Kid—her baggy black trousers and faded t-shirt hardly complementary to Kid's tailored suit and blue tie. Her dark hair was flying every which way, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologised breathlessly. "I was leaving FinsburyPark station when I got the page. I had to run like a madwoman to make the next Victoria line train, and you know, it's a long chuffing way to Ladbroke Grove from FinsburyPark!" She finished with an awkward laugh.

Rachel and Kid laughed too, but Kid's sharp eyes took in a strange look in Nan's own. She was a little too cheerful, a little too flippant, even for her. He had worked with her too long not to know there was something bothering her. Nan Kenworthy was a master at avoiding her own pain.

She settled into the chair next to Kid, combing her hair with her fingers. "Look at the state of me. It's my day off, you see." She smoothed down her t-shirt. It was emblazoned with a photo of The Who. "Great shirt though, eh? I'm a big Pete Townshend fan. This is from their 'Live at Leeds' concert. Probably a collector's item and here I am wearing it to run my errands in."

She was rambling now, which was also unlike her. Something must have really rattled her, Kid thought. He decided to step in. "Inspector, this is Ms Rachel Dunne. Ms Dunne, this is Inspector Kenworthy."

"How do you do."

The two women shook hands.

"How do you do."

Then Kid hit the recording button on the tape player installed into the wall. The machine clicked and whirred to life. "This is Detective Inspector Andrew Kidwell of the Area Major Incident Team, currently based in Ladbroke Grove. The date is 23rd September 1999, the time is 11.30. Also present is Detective Inspector Anna Kenworthy, also of the AMIT, also currently based in Ladbroke Grove. We are interviewing Ms Rachel Dunne, who has declined the presence of a solicitor. Ms Dunne, please state your full name, city of residence, and occupation."

Rachel cleared her throat nervously. Her voice came out in a stammer, "R-Rachel Eileen Dunne. I live in Hampstead. Um, I'm a h-housekeeper."

"Ms Dunne, would you please state why you have requested this interview?"

"Well, I—I believe that I know, or…or at least I may know who has been committing these crimes."

"Would you please state which crimes you are referring to?"

It took a moment for Rachel to adjust to this abrupt change in DI Kidwell. He was no longer the smiling, easygoing lad who had asked cheerful questions about the old west; he was now straight-faced and utterly professional. "I-I'm referring to the robberies of the Harburys, the Claussens, the Andropolouses, and most recently the Trumans. They are current business partners of my ex-husband, Julian Westward."

"And you are also referring to the murders of Robert Campbell, Ethan Cutler, and Maurice Fitzhugh, is that correct, Ms Dunne?"

"Well, I…" Rachel began picking at her fingernails. She avoided the two Inspectors' eyes. "I don't know that Julian would _murder_ anyone."

"But," Kid broke in, "you're here because you believe he must be _capable_ of murder, is that also correct?"

Rachel thought back to her elegant former husband in his expensive designer suits, his black hair and black eyes, his tanned, angular face. She had loved him once, that was undeniable; in fact, she had adored him. But all that seemed so long ago.

When she looked up, Kid and Nan were peering at her curiously. She collected herself. "Sorry… Where were we?"

"Please tell us why you suspect your ex-husband, Mr Julian Westward." Kid glanced at the paper on the table. "Julian Westward." He stopped and repeated the name in puzzled tones. "Julian Westward. That sounds familiar." He flipped rapidly through the file. "Julian Westward. Westward…Westward," he murmured to himself. "Ah, yes." He seized the statement he had been looking for. "Victoria Westward."

"That's Julian's new wife," Rachel said.

Nan choked so hard on her coffee that she spilled it onto her trousers.

"Nan, are you all right?" asked Kid.

"Fine, fine," she replied dismissively. Her eyes were bright and eager. "Is that the statement from the Harbury party, Kid?"

"Um, no…the…let me see…the Andropolous party."

"Really?"

"Yes."

They exchanged a brief glance. Now was hardly the time to discuss the case. They turned again to Rachel.

"Forgive us," Kid said. "Do go on, Ms Dunne."

There was something in the air, some spark, and Rachel knew it. They hadn't fooled her—they thought they were on to something, and whatever she was about to tell them would only serve to confirm their suspicions.

"Julian and I were married for five years. We met in New York City in 1990, while he was on a business trip and I was studying at college. We married about six months after we met and moved to Paris shortly after that. We bought a house and Julian went into business with some friends. He made a lot of money in those days. He showered me with presents: clothes, a car, furniture, jewellery—especially jewellery."

"Do you still have any of that jewellery, Ms Dunne?" Nan asked.

"Not much of it. Just a pearl necklace we bought together in Hawaii, and a pair of diamond earrings. And my wedding ring. That's it."

"Please continue."

"Well, I started noticing…certain things. It's hard to describe." Rachel looked at the detectives helplessly. "I guess you could say maybe, well, maybe feminine intuition? Things only a wife would notice."

Kid and Nan allowed several moments of silence while Rachel searched for the right words. Then Nan said softly, "Please elaborate, Ms Dunne."

"Julian brought me new jewellery at least twice a month. And I don't just mean costume jewellery and the occasional gold necklace. It was always rubies and diamonds and opals and emeralds." Nan and Kid stared at her with wide eyes. "At first I was just so thrilled with the presents; I love beautiful things, and I've never been able to afford them. I loved Julian so much, you see, and I think…I think he loved me, too." Rachel Dunne's eyes held a faraway look. "Then one day, I was visiting with Francoise Duprés, the wife of one of Julian's business partners. I had on a new necklace Julian had just given me; the pendant was a beautiful big sapphire with a gold setting, and Francoise looked at it, and she said, 'Rachel darling, what a lovely sapphire. Do you know, my sapphire ring was stolen last week? My husband is furious. And Marie LaChaille's favourite opal necklace was taken the week before that. Dreadful, isn't it?'

"She started talking about something else after that, but I just…went hot and cold all over. It was one of those instances in life where—where everything clicks for some reason. Under any other circumstances I probably wouldn't have given it a second though. But that day…that day it all made sense. You see, Julian had given me an opal ring the week before."

Nan and Kid were leaning forward, hanging intently on every word, their eyes lit with the fire of someone finally onto something.

"I just had this flash of understanding; I saw it all as clearly as if Julian himself had told me. He was taking these things, from his friends' houses, maybe while he was visiting, maybe afterward. That part didn't matter. But he was taking them, these beautiful things, and he was resetting the jewels, turning rings into necklaces, necklaces into rings, earrings into brooches. I started thinking about all the gifts he'd given me recently. I know it's crazy. You must think I'm crazy, and I don't blame you. But I knew, you see. I knew."

"You're not crazy, Ms Dunne, we don't think that all," Nan promised gently. "You have no idea how many cases are helped by a spouse's intuition. Beyond all that, a person can generally trust her instincts."

Rachel looked at her gratefully. "I couldn't prove anything, of course, but I started noticing a frightening regularity to Julian's gifts. I can't believe none of his friends ever noticed that he was showering his wife with the same jewels their wives were losing. But he was careful to dissuade me from wearing certain items right away, and I suppose they trusted him implicitly. At any rate, none of the investigations ever led anywhere close to my husband. Apparently he'd covered his tracks well. I loved him too much to accuse him of anything, especially without proof. But then...then it all started to fall apart on him."

Kid's eyebrow lifted. "They started to suspect?"

"No." Rachel shook her head. "Not at all. But other things went wrong—Julian's investments began to fall through, the other partners were angry because he'd encouraged them to invest in the same areas. Eventually the CEO, Gérard LaChaille, asked Julian to leave the company. Julian was devastated. He said he would get back at them any way he could." She stopped, afraid to say the next words. "Two weeks later Gérard LaChaille was robbed of his entire collection of jewellery, as well as a Marc Chagall painting. His brother, Phílippe, apparently caught the thief in the act, and he was murdered. The week after that, Hénri Devereaux was robbed and his maid was murdered. Then Pierre Marceau was robbed, but no one was murdered, and then…" She was unable to go on. Her eyes were horror-filled, tears streaming down her face.

Nan handed her a tissue and said nothing.

"I couldn't _prove_ anything, Inspector. He had the motive, he had the opportunity, and I couldn't prove it."

"Was your husband questioned by the police in Paris?"

"Of course. Not seriously, though, I could tell it was just a formality. They didn't suspect a man of Julian's wealth and status, no matter if he had just been fired from the same company. They laughed with him and went out for drinks afterward. And do you know the worst part? The worst part was that my husband was capable of committing these atrocities, and of doing it so cleverly, so wickedly…that no one was able to prove anything…" Caught up in her own frustration, Rachel sighed. "We moved to London where he joined the Hawkesworth Brokerage Firm, of which Christos Andropolous, Thomas Claussen, Lord Harbury, and Ursula Truman are partners. A few months later we were divorced. I haven't seen him since."

Nan and Kid remained silent. Nan's mind whirled at the thought of Rachel Dunne's anguish. What must it be like to realise that the man you loved and lived with was not only capable of such evil, but also of the remarkable cunning to hide it? How would you feel? Betrayed, bewildered, at the very least.

Kid folded his hands and when he spoke he was no longer distant with Rachel. He was gentle, coaxing, the devil's advocate, as he had to be under the circumstances. "Ms Dunne, given the fact that you were not able to prove your husband's involvement in the murders and robberies you've spoken of, given the fact that you have been estranged from your husband for nearly five years, given the fact that we have no proof Mr Westward would have a motive for harming any of the members of his current investment firm… I feel I must tell you, Ms Dunne, these circumstances will not work in our favour."

The colour flushed on Rachel's suddenly pale cheeks. "Yes, I know. It was silly for me to have come."

Another look passed between Nan and Kid. Nan nodded, and then Kid closed the file with a careful snap. He reached over and pressed the tape to its stop.

"For the record, Ms Dunne, we believe you. But proving you're right is going to be difficult."

* * *

_N_an let herself into her flat and collapsed immediately on her sofa, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. She looked over at the clock and sighed. Not even nine o'clock and she was exhausted. Who knew the interview with Rachel Dunne would lead to so many hours of research? Julian Westward's background, Julian Westward's first, second, and third wives, Julian Westward's business associates. Her day off had hardly registered as one; she had spent the majority of it in the nick, hunched over a computer. Now she was aching for a bath and a whiskey, not necessarily in that order. Maybe both at the same time.

The answering machine had stored seven messages. Nan pressed 'play' and began to pour herself a generous helping of whiskey.

_Beep_. "Darling, beautiful girl!" It was Uncle Jamie. "Just wondering how your little emergency went off. Let us know you're all right, pet, your Granddad's worried…as usual."

_Beep_. "Nan, um… It's me, Paulie. Did you get the Blur tickets? Call me and let me know, a'wright? Can you maybe get three tickets? I'd sort of like to take Melinda. She's…she's my girlfriend. Anyway, call me, Nan. Bye."

_Beep_. "Hello, duck. It's Geoff. Just wondering how you are. Haven't seen much of you these days. Love you. 'Ta."

_Beep_. "It's Dru, Nanny-bear. A little birdie saw you leaving the pub last night with a smashingly gorgeous bloke with nice shoulders and brown hair. Apparently you were both staggering drunk and snogging like mad. I'm beside myself with curiosity! My imagination is working overtime. Give me a ring and confirm my depraved suspicions! Bye!"

_Beep_. "Hallo, love. Your old fuddy-duddy Granddad here. Just checking in. Please call. Love you."

_Beep_. "Miss Nan Kenworthy, this is Mr Geoff Devanney again, calling to request the pleasure of your company at the cinema tomorrow evening. Looks like a couple good ones have come out. Ring me back!"

_Beep_. "Uh… This is Jimmy." Nan choked on her whiskey. The liquid burned in her throat. "Nan, I uh, wondered if we could…you know, talk. About…you know…about last night. About what happened. I don't want things to be like this. I'd like for us to talk. Give me a call at the hotel, okay? Really, Nan. I mean it."

Nan glared at the machine. She wasn't in the mood to call anybody. Not Granddad or Uncle Jamie, who would be full of questions. Not Paulie, who would only be concerned with the concert. Not Geoff, who would want to analyse her actions and delve into the reasons why she had done what she had. Dru would only be full of questions and gossip, and much as Nan longed to know who had spotted her with Jimmy at the pub, she wasn't ready for the conversation.

And she wanted to call Jimmy least of all. Jimmy, who had tried so hard this morning to get her to admit that last night had meant something to her, when in fact all it had meant was disaster. She had been down this road before, she was in no hurry to tread the path again. She had only her raging hormones and a penchant for gin to thank for her pains. There was no way she was getting involved with a handsome American who would be leaving in six months.

Nan erased all the messages and readied herself for her bath.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_And there's a reason why I keep my distance  
Don't think you're gonna understand  
This is the last thing that I need right now_

"Last Thing" - Diana Anaid

* * *

_T_ry as she might, Nan found it was impossible to avoid Jimmy entirely. It didn't help that the case had escalated to such a level that none of them were ever far from the office. Everywhere she turned there he was, his eyes silently beseeching. They had spoken, but only of matters relating to the case; Nan would allow nothing further. She wouldn't respond to messages on her answer-phone or pleas for understanding. If Jimmy's unspoken hope moved her in the least, she didn't show it. She was as unyielding as ever.

It was pouring rain again on Wednesday. Geoff drove her to the nick late in the morning. They were quiet on the way, listening to a classical station. The Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields was playing Vaughan Williams's 'The Lark Ascending.' The music was slow and so beautiful that it gave both Nan and Geoff a glorious pain inside as the orchestra swept through the car, moving perfectly with the rain falling outside.

"What are you thinking, old girl?" Geoff asked teasingly. "You've a bit of a dreamy look about you."

Nan snapped to attention. She had been resting her head against the cool window and thinking, despite herself, of Jimmy's warm smile. Glancing at Geoff, she grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, just a million miles away."

"I'm seeing more and more of that in you these days." Geoff nudged her with his elbow and laughed. "Are you in love?"

"What possessed you to say that?"

He shrugged and manoeuvred a turn. "Don't know. Just something in your eyes. Not the usual hard-nosed Nan I'm used to being around."

"You're the only one who thinks so," she snorted.

Geoff did not respond, but Nan could tell by the subtle play of his lips that he was amused at her retort. Geoff probably knew her better than anyone, Granddad and Uncle Jamie included, and that could be extremely irritating at times. Not that she was in love, because he was _wrong_ about that. He was very wrong.

"You're just not yourself," he said finally, after a particularly beautiful interlude in the song.

Nan sighed and leaned over to rest her head on Geoff's shoulder. She buried her nose in his thick, shampoo-smelling black hair and said, "I've made another mess, Geoff."

"Oh, dear, dear," he said with mock solemnity. He clucked his tongue in a fatherly fashion. "What's our incorrigible Nan done now?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course you do." He spoke with absolute certainty.

With a flush of shame, Nan pressed her face against Geoff's warm wool jacket and mumbled her confession.

Geoff paused in the midst of driving to reach over and turn down the radio. "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that. It sounded as if you said, 'I've slept with another of my co-workers.'"

Lifting her face from his sleeve, Nan briefly met Geoff's sidelong gaze. Her cheeks were bright red. "I did."

Pursing his lips tightly together, Geoff choked back an unholy burst of laughter. His cheeks clearly showed what an effort it was.

"Go ahead, laugh, you bastard. Laugh at my expense."

And then he did. His laughter filled the car the way the music had only moments before. He tilted his head forward for a moment, his long black fringe falling over his forehead. Nan glared at him, arms crossed over her chest. She was leaning against the car door, as far away from him as she could get.

"Glad you're finding this so funny."

"Oh, Jesus..." Geoff wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Nan," he said after he had somewhat composed himself. "Truly I am. I just started thinking of what everyone called you at school."

"Don't say it..."

He giggled. "Not-so-Naughty Nan."

"Shut it."

"But it's pretty funny, isn't it?" he exclaimed rather gleefully. "I mean, all through school you had this reputation as Little Miss Touch-Me-Not; never had a boyfriend, didn't even let the boys near you, and now look at you! Breaking men's hearts all over the London Police Force! You've probably got one in every nick, haven't you?"

Her eyes were narrow slits of fury. "I hate you."

"No, you don't. You love me. Now come on, tell Uncle Geoff all about it."

"Why? You're just going to run over to Dru's and tell _her_."

"No I'm not, I swear. Come on, Nanny-bear. Just because she's my girlfriend doesn't mean I can't keep a secret from her."

"Right."

"Come on, Nanny-bear."

"Don't call me that! You're a complete git and I don't let complete gits call me 'Nanny-bear,'" she replied witheringly.

"But it's my name for you." He poked her with one slender finger. "Come on then," he coaxed her. "Come on, Nanny-bear, tell me. Tell me all about this bloke."

"No."

He poked her again, this time directly under one rib. She squirmed and squealed in protest. "All right, all right," she relented. "I hate you, but I'll tell you anyway. His name's James Hickok and he's one of the New York officers over here on that exchange program."

"He's not like Pete Binchy, is he?"

Nan caught the worried tone to her friend's voice. "No."

"Good. You know, Pete's an all right bloke, Nan, but you two had nothing in common beyond the job. No common interests, no common opinions or personality traits. I never liked that."

"Me either."

"Anyway, go on. Tell me about this James Hickok."

Nan launched into a description of Jimmy, his physical characteristics duly noted to such an extent that Geoff rolled his eyes in amusement; she spoke of his personality and their initial mutual dislike. She told him about the olive branch Jimmy had extended Sunday night, which had turned into something more, and of her behaviour the following morning. She spoke at such great length that before she realised it they had arrived at the Ladbroke Grove station and she found she was still talking.

Geoff glided slowly to a halt before swivelling in his seat to look at her. He studied her face-lovely as ever, but pale, with a strange, starry look in her dark blue eyes. There was something there, maybe not love, but a woman didn't take note of a man the way Nan had obviously taken note of James Hickok without there being something behind it.

"You're interested in the bloke."

"Am not."

"Don't let's start this sort of discussion," he protested. "I know you, Anna Kenworthy; you may have been pissed as a newt, but you never would have spent the night with the man if you weren't attracted to him."

"Nonsense. It was the gin. I need to stop drinking."

"People are always blaming drink for things they did themselves. You don't have a drinking problem, Nan. You _wanted_ to spend the night with this Hickok bloke, but you were afraid to; the gin just gave you the courage to go through with something you already wanted to do in the first place."

"You're mad."

Geoff grinned his marvellous crooked, thin-lipped grin. "I love you, Nan, you know that, but _you're_ the one who's mad. Now go on...time for work. Try not to sleep with any co-workers on the way in."

The door was brutally shoved open. Nan jumped out of the car and stood in the rain, leaning down to growl, "I hate you, Geoff Devanney."

"So you said, so you said."

She slammed the door shut again. Geoff blew her an affectionate kiss and pulled out into the London traffic.

* * *

_U_pon reflection, Emma Shannon noticed that DI Kenworthy and Lieutenant Hickok had ceased to be so mercilessly at one another's throats. She was pleased; obviously her little chats with them had done a world of good. True they were still not exactly the best of friends, but at least there had been no more bloodshed.

In a subconscious attempt to _make_ Jimmy and Nan become friends, Emma decided to send the two out to interview Julian Westward. The look on both their faces was utterly priceless.

"Guv, I don't think-"

"Guv, maybe it's not-"

"I mean, I really think-"

"I'd like to pick Cody and Buck up from the airport, if you don't-"

"I didn't ask for a discussion, did I? No, I don't think I did. Louise and Kid are picking Sergeant Cross and Sergeant Cody up at Stansted; _you_ two are going to interview Julian Westward. Now clear off, the pair of you!"

Nan saw immediately that there would be no arguing with Emma. She and Jimmy grabbed their macks and umbrellas. They didn't meet each other's eyes on the way out. Jimmy did his best to bore holes into the back of Nan's coat. His pleas for her understanding had given way to his own fury. She had closed herself off from him, refusing to brook any argument or discussion; it was infuriating, absolutely maddening, and completely childish. She seemed to think she could ignore things into submission.

"Just so you know," he said when they had settled into the car, "I'm not any happier about this than you are."

"Excellent. Then we're agreed."

"How long a drive is it to Wimbledon?"

"About thirty minutes."

"Great."

"Your sarcasm is not lost on me, Lieutenant."

"No, Inspector, if there's one thing I'm not worried about, it's your ability to recognise sarcasm."

Nan gave the steering wheel a rather vicious tug as she pulled out of the parking garage at the station. Jimmy turned on the radio. He fiddled around a bit until he found a station playing old 30s and 40s songs. Louis Armstrong's husky voice poured out.

_I see trees of green, red roses too _

_I see them bloom for me and you _

_And I think to myself _

_What a wonderful world_

Nan glanced at Jimmy in surprise. Immediately he turned to her, defensive. "What?" he demanded. "I like this song. Is that a problem?"

"It's not a problem."

_I see skies of blue, clouds of white _

_The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night _

_And I think to myself _

_What a wonderful world_

She didn't add that she loved this song and always had, that it gave her a nice, warm feeling inside, that Louis Armstrong's voice sent warm shivers down her spine. She just glared right back at him and didn't reply.

_The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky _

_Are also on the faces of people passing by _

_I see friends shaking hands saying, How do you do _

_What they're really saying is, I love you _

_I hear babies crying, I watch them grow _

_They'll learn much more than I'll never know _

_And I think to myself _

_What a wonderful world_

"Jimmy-"

"Yes?"

_Yes I think to myself _

_What a wonderful world_

"Do you have Julian Westward's file?" That wasn't actually what she had intended to say.

He looked at her in annoyance. "What? You don't think I'm capable of bringing along one stinking file?"

"I just asked!" Her answer shot out of her mouth so fast she didn't have time to think about it. They seemed to be incapable of carrying on a basic conversation.

She had really wanted to say something to him, something about that night. That Night. The words were capitalised in her head. As was the memory of Jimmy himself. Damn, damn, damn it all. Especially Geoff and his psychoanalysing, damn him most of all. It was his fault she was thinking about Jimmy like this. Well, she wasn't going to anymore. She'd think about the rain. Yes, that was it, the lovely rain, falling outside and against the windows...and the rain clinging to the tip of Jimmy's nose and his fingertips as he held her face between his hands and they stood on the street corner waiting for the light to change...and the way it brought out the scent of his shampoo, and...

Damn.

Somehow she managed to make it through the rest of the drive to Wimbledon. They found Julian Westward's home easily, and after showing their badges to the butler they were escorted into the study where they were assured Mr Westward would be with them shortly. They were encouraged to make themselves comfortable, but it was difficult to do so: the room was lavishly done, breathtakingly luxuriant, full of what were obviously antiques; it didn't exactly lend itself to comfort.

When Julian Westward joined them, it took a moment for Nan to catch her breath. He could easily have filled in as James Bond should the need have ever arisen, with classically-cut features and a handsome, mocking mouth. His clothes draped against his elegant frame, lending him an air of casual opulence. When he spoke his voice was low, rich, and utterly posh.

"Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I'm Julian Westward."

As if there was any doubt, Jimmy noted to himself dryly. The man was as pompous as his name sounded. He noted with interest that Nan had a glazed, appreciative look in her blue eyes, and Julian's look of mutual admiration was also obvious.

"Inspector Kenworthy."

"Inspector." Julian drew Nan's hand within the circle of his. "How do you do." His voice was silky smooth.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Ahem." Nan and Westward looked at him as if suddenly remembering he had been there all along. "Lieutenant Hickok, Mr Westward."

"A pleasure, Lieutenant." Julian indicated the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, be seated. Can I get you any refreshments? A drink perhaps?"

"No, thank you."

"No, I'm fine."

"Well then," Westward seated himself in the large leather chair behind his desk. He folded his hands together. "May I assume you're here because of the tragedies that have befallen my co-workers?"

"Mr Westward, we're here to gather some information from you," Jimmy said, playing the 'bad cop' role voluntarily. He didn't like the man already, whether or not he'd had anything to do with the robberies or murders was really irrelevant.

"I believe the police already have my statements from the parties, do they not?"

"Yes, we do."

"I was only at two of them, Lieutenant-the Claussens' and the Andropolous'. I was there, I was dining among friends and co-workers. I heard Helena Claussen scream and ran upstairs with Thomas to find her. As well as the body of Ethan Cutler, I might add."

"And the other two nights, Mr Westward?" persisted Jimmy.

"May I ask why I have been singled out for questioning, Lieutenant?"

"I wouldn't say you've been singled out, Mr Westward."

"I would. To the best of my knowledge, none of the other people at the party have been visited at home, have they? Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Mr Westward," Nan broke in, attempting to diffuse the tension. "We have every intention of continuing this line of investigation. You're merely the first we've come to."

Julian bestowed her with a charming smile. "Please, Inspector, don't patronise me. I'm perfectly aware of what's really going on. You see, I know my ex-wife paid you a visit."

"Mr Westward-"

"Rachel's paid you a visit. You needn't confirm nor deny this, I know the truth. That's why you're here today, nearly three weeks after the first murder and robbery; that's why you're visiting me _first_, as you put it."

"You sound angry, sir." Jimmy couldn't resist pointing out the obvious.

"Well, what else should I be, Lieutenant? My ex-wife, whom I once vowed to love, honour, and cherish, has apparently decided to unleash some sort of revenge on me."

Jimmy and Nan exchanged glances. Rachel Dunne hadn't at all struck them as the vengeful ex-wife. In fact, the fear and trepidation in her eyes had been painfully evident.

"She's very displeased that I've found happiness again, you understand. She's concocted some ridiculous story, portraying me as the cruel, mercenary culprit. Sad, really, but the fact remains. She wants to see me punished for the dissolution of our marriage."

Nan was curious despite herself, despite even her surprise at the man's change of temper. He suddenly looked very angry and impatient. "What makes you say that, Mr Westward? Why do you believe your ex-wife would make false accusations against you? Especially accusations of this nature?"

"Because she's done it before and it nearly cost me everything."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Suspicion and dark murmurs surround me_

_Everywhere I go they confound me_

_As though the blood on my hands_

_is there for every citizen to see_

"When I First Came to Town" - Nick Cave

* * *

_F_or a long, silent moment Jimmy and Nan could only stare at Julian Westward with wide, disbelieving eyes. He wore a smile, clearly pleased with the sensation his statement had caused.

Finally Jimmy cleared his throat, seeing that Nan was speechless. "I beg your pardon, Mr Westward?"

Westward nodded. "Yes. A few short months before our divorce. We were living in Paris at the time."

"Would you care to elaborate, sir?"

The man gave an elegant shrug. "I don't have all the facts, of course, you would need to go to the Parisian police for that, but I suppose I do have a rudimentary grasp of the matter." Pulling his chair closer to the desk, Westward rested his arms on the tabletop and regarded the two officers with a detached expression. "It was about five or six years ago; I was a partner with LaChaille Investments, doing very well in fact. Then a similar series of events came about for my partners: burgled, bereft of millions of pounds worth of jewellery; some poor soul who accidentally got in the way, murdered. Tragic, tragic events."

Nan gained her voice and spoke assuredly. "And you were remarkably spared from these events?"

"Yes." Catching her look, Julian smiled again. "Myself and another partner, Colette Gordon. They caught the gentleman before he was fortunate enough to get to us."

"They caught him?" Jimmy and Nan darted glances at one another. Rachel Dunne hadn't mentioned this either. With each moment that passed Julian Westward was gaining the upper hand and they knew it. More importantly, Westward knew it too.

"Yes, caught him in the act of robbing Emílie and Jéan Dufrésne. With his hand in the cookie jar, as the Americans say," Westward commented dryly, throwing a sly look in Jimmy's direction.

"Do you remember the man's name?"

"Should I?"

"And you were questioned before or after the man was caught?"

Westward's mouth quirked in another grin. "Well, it could hardly be after, Lieutenant, could it?"

But Jimmy was not to be deterred. He spoke just as calmly and professionally as ever. "And the Parisian police just came out and told you your wife suspected you for the crimes, did they?"

"Hardly," scoffed Westward. "But it didn't take a genius to figure it out. A man is worth nothing, Lieutenant, if he can't read his own wife. Rachel was utterly transparent and not terribly subtle in her line of questioning. I knew my wife suspected me before she did."

"And why would she suspect you, Mr Westward?" asked Nan. Jimmy was relieved to find that she was finally backing him up. Till now she had seemed mesmerised by the rubbish slipping smoothly off the man's tongue.

"Well, apart from the unfortunate fact that I had no airtight alibi for my whereabouts on the specific nights the incidents occurred, there was also the fact that, well, for lack of a less clichéd term, I had the motive."

Nan's eyebrow shot upward. "Motive?" she echoed.

"Yes, Inspector, I had a motive. At least, to Rachel I did. I had been having personal difficulties with Gérard LaChaille, the chief executive officer of the company. To Rachel, who was and is very inexperienced in business matters, I can only assume that she took the animosity between Monsieur LaChaille and myself as grounds for acts of vengeance on my part."

Their eyes didn't meet, but both Jimmy and Nan stiffened in sudden awareness. They both arched forward intently. This wasn't right. This wasn't the story Rachel Dunne had told; at least, it wasn't the right timeframe. Someone was lying.

"And then you were asked to leave LaChaille Investments, is that correct Mr Westward?"

The look Westward gave Jimmy was murderous. His jaw twitched as he reigned in control. "Rachel told you that?"

Rushing to Rachel's protection, Nan said, "We did a background check, sir."

"And your background check concluded that I was dismissed from LaChaille Investments?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, it was wrong. Completely inaccurate. I left LaChaille Investments of my own volition. Gérard and I settled relatively amicably, considering previous circumstances."

By silent agreement, Jimmy and Nan did not contradict. It would take only a few moments to verify this with Gérard LaChaille.

The phone rang. A seething Julian Westward picked it up. "Hello?" he barked down the line. "Yes, hello dear...Oh, just sitting here having a bit of a chat with the police...Yes, the police...No, no trouble, dear, I'm just being questioned...We'll discuss that later...Let's leave Rachel out of it for the moment, shall we?...No, I haven't forgotten...I'll see you in half an hour...Goodbye."

When he hung up he gestured apologetically. "My wife. We have an appointment. I really should be going." He rose from his desk.

Jimmy and Nan rose also. "But sir," Jimmy protested, "we haven't finished."

"Perhaps not. But I have, Lieutenant. I know my rights; this is my home and I have the right to excuse you from it when I choose. And I so choose."

Feeling Nan's warning hand on his arm, Jimmy stopped. He sensed her silent message, urging him to stop.

"Please allow me to show you out." Westward was once again the epitome of hospitality.

At the door, he shook Jimmy's hand and then turned to Nan. Lifting her hand to his lips, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the back of her palm. A smile snaked across his face. "It was truly a pleasure, Anna Kenworthy. I know we shall meet again."

Outside it had stopped raining. The air was cool, the lunchtime pedestrians filling the streets. As Nan unlocked the car doors, Jimmy was thoughtful.

"How did he know your name?"

"Sorry?" Nan looked at him.

"He knew your name. He called you Anna. You never told him your name was Anna."

* * *

_T_he first phone call came that same evening. 'Neighbours' was about to come on and Rachel was desperately trying to have a cup of tea ready before it did. The kettle began to whistle at the same moment the phone rang and the 'Neighbours' theme music started. In a whirl of confusion, Rachel reached for the phone at the same moment she reached for the kettle and succeeded in grabbing neither.

The kettle went crashing to the floor, landing on its side. The scalding hot water began to trickle from the spout, puddling around Rachel's bare feet. She screamed in frustrated pain, grabbing the phone off the hook and dashing into the living room.

"Dammit! Dammit!" She winced and sat down on the divan. "Hello?" she muttered into the phone.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Rachel?"

The sound of the voice stopped Rachel's heart. It was a cold, cutting voice, full of fury, but she didn't recognise it. "Who is this?"

"Oh, tsk tsk. Do you mean to say you don't recognise my voice? After all we've been through?"

The voice still wasn't familiar, but the sharpness was. Rachel's voice came out a frightened whisper. "Julian?"

"Not very nice of you to set the police on me, Rachel."

"I didn't..."

"Then how do you explain the visit I received this afternoon from Detective Inspector Kenworthy and Lieutenant Hickok?"

"I don't know anything about that, Julian."

"You mean you just paid them a social visit? You didn't report me again?"

"I-"

"I don't want to hear any more lies out of your mouth, Rachel. In fact, I don't want to hear anything out of your mouth ever again. If I so much as hear a _whisper_ from your direction, I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life. You're putting me through _hell_. Do you understand me? _Hell_."

Tears were coursing down Rachel's face. Her feet stung from the hot water. Onscreen Karl and Susan Kennedy were having an argument.

"Do you hear me, Rachel?" the voice demanded. "You can't do this to me again! I am _not guilty_!"

Rachel opened her mouth, but all that came out were choking sounds low in her throat. Her lips wouldn't form words.

"This is a phone call, Rachel, that's all it is. But if you think I'm not capable of more, you are sadly—_sadly—_mistaken. Is that clear?"

With a startled cry, the phone slipped from her hands. She buried her face in her palms. She could hear Julian's voice coming from the phone.

"Rachel? Rachel? Answer me, dammit!"

And then the loud buzz of the dial tone. Oh God, Oh God, what had she done? What had she done?

Rachel launched herself off the divan and paced around the small room, wringing her hands, staring out the window. "Oh God, what do I do?" she murmured to herself. "I need help. Oh God, I need help."

She had made the stupidest decision of her life in speaking to the police. How dare they tell him she had given them a statement? That was a violation of her rights, wasn't it? Those two detectives with their earnest faces, their 'For the record, Ms Dunne, we believe you.' They had betrayed her, given Julian some subtle hint that it was she who had spoken to them, maybe even confessed it outright and then had a laugh with him afterward. Just like before.

Just like the police in Paris.

Why hadn't she kept her mouth shut? Why had she decided to become such an upstanding citizen and report her suspicions? She should have just kept to herself, let the police track him down, lived her quiet life in London...

Watched as one by one, Julian terrorised her friends. Or at least, people who used to be her friends before Julian had poisoned their minds against her.

She knew it was Julian as surely as she had ever known anything. She cleaned houses now, for the very people she used to socialise with, and she had heard the rumours. Julian's firm was growing displeased with him, his investments had begun to take a nosedive once again. It was all too familiar. Weeks before the first murder, Rachel had begun to dread the turn of events that she knew instinctively were about to take place. And when it came, it had Julian's mark all over it.

Slowly and methodically, hoping to calm herself, Rachel went into the kitchen and started cleaning up the spilled water. The phone rang again.

Rachel froze in mid-swipe, the towel in her hands, still kneeling on the floor. She remained paralysed as it continued ringing and the machine picked up. She heard her own voice over the answering machine. "Hello, this is Rachel. I'm not able to come to the phone. Please leave me a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible." A loud beep followed, and then silence. The machine whirred quietly down and clicked off. No message, but she knew without a doubt that it had been Julian.

Sinking down onto the floor, she leaned against the cabinet, pressing her face into the wet cloth. The phone rang again. Again the caller left no message. When it rang a third time, a terrified Rachel ran into the living room and snatched it up. This time he didn't wait for her greeting.

"You didn't think I'd be so daft as to leave a message, now did you, my girl?"

"I just—I didn't—"

"I don't care what you 'just' or 'didn't,' Rachel. All I care about is you keeping your mouth shut. Now, what will it take? Will a threat be enough?"

Somehow, amazingly, Rachel found a reserve of strength from somewhere deep within her. "Why do you—why do you need to keep my mouth shut if you're innocent?"

There was a spurt of cruelly appreciative laughter. "I'd forgot how much I once enjoyed you, my dear. We did have quite the rows, didn't we?"

"I'm glad our marriage amused you." Her courage was growing now, from where she didn't know.

"Oh, come now, don't be melodramatic. I didn't marry you for amusement."

"I don't _care_ why you married me, Julian. I just care that you leave me alone!"

"You know I can't do that. You're destroying me again!"

"I won't say anything more to the police, I swear! Just please—_leave_ me _alone_!"

"You don't trust them, do you? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret, Rachel—they didn't betray you. They didn't so much as acknowledge that you'd made a statement. They actually did a very clever job of evading a 'yes' or a 'no.' But you've confirmed my suspicions for me, thank you."

Games. It was all more of Julian's games. And she had played right into it. She felt sick. Clutching the phone tightly in her hands, her blood racing in her veins, heart pounding, Rachel demanded, "Just leave me alone, Julian, please!"

"I can't afford to. You're going to drag me down...but not before I drag you down with me."

"If they don't have any proof, they can't do anything to you, they can't—"

"They don't need _proof_ to destroy my reputation! I could lose _everything_, Rachel! Do you understand that? _Everything_! If my partners get wind of this, I won't be able to show my face in London again. I'll be lucky if I can set foot in England! All they have to do is start asking questions, and then people will put two and two together, and then they'll learn about what happened in Paris, and it will _destroy_ me!"

"I'll run. I'll leave, Julian. You'll never find me."

"Don't fool yourself, Rachel. You know I've got the money and the power to find you anywhere. Wherever you go, I'll be there. I'll be watching you. I won't let you get away with this again."

"No...you can't..." Her voice wasn't working. It was fading away, betraying her.

"I'm watching you right now."

Gasping, Rachel's head flew up. Her window was drawn open and it faced the street. The building across was vacant on the opposite floor. Rachel crawled across the floor and peered out. She saw nothing.

"Your face is quite pale, Rachel. Is something troubling you?"

"You can't see me."

"You're staring right at me. I can see you, Rachel, with your hair up in a bun and a ghastly red jumper on. Red's never really suited you, you know, I've always told you that."

Without thinking, Rachel hung up. She drew the curtains abruptly closed and looked to see that her hands were shaking. She tried to steady them, but still they shook. Her mind was whirling. She couldn't think straight, her thoughts were flying too fast through her head. She had never, never in her life been as scared as she was at that moment. She couldn't run, she knew that, for Julian was as powerful as he said, and he would find her. She didn't doubt that for a second.

She could think of only one way out. It was her only hope. With trembling fingers, she dialled again. "Please...please...please," she murmured as the line rang. First one ring, then two...three, four.

And then an answering machine picked up, with the familiar gravelly voice she hadn't heard in years, a voice that now brought tears to her eyes. "You know the routine," the message said. "So do your stuff."

"It's me," Rachel said tremulously. She cleared her throat and spoke strongly, "It's me...Rachel. I—I know it's been a long time, and I hate to ask you this, but I need your help. I need it more than I've ever needed anything. It's Julian. I know you warned me about him, and I should have listened to you, because you were right. And I've been scared to call you before now. But now...now I'm too scared _not_ to call you. I need your help." She stopped. Her voice had died away to barely a whisper. "Please. I need your help, Teaspoon."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_I don't wanna spend the rest of my days_

_running around, chasing your shadow_

_So please don't let this chance slip away_

_If you waste it this time, I won't be here tomorrow_

"Step Into My World" – Hurricane #1

* * *

_P_C Philippa Brierly hadn't stood a chance. The moment the man's blue eyes flashed in her direction she went weak at the knees. Paired with his impish grin it was all she could do to stand up straight. Heart thudding, she watched as he walked by, wondering dazedly who the blond bloke was as he tossed her a mischievous, over-the-shoulder wink. The man next to him, a black-haired American Indian with an earring dangling from one ear, nudged him in irritation.

"Jesus, Cody," Philippa heard him say. "We've been here ten minutes and already you're working your charm." His words reeked of mockery.

Focusing his attention on his companion, the man called Cody laughed. "Relax, Buck. I only smiled at the woman."

'But what a smile,' Philippa thought to herself, rolling her eyes heavenward in appreciation. She made a mental note to seek him out again, then rounded the corner from where she had come.

The Ladbroke Grove incident room was exactly like every police centre they'd ever seen, only the faces and the accents had changed. For a moment Buck and Cody just stood and surveyed their new surroundings.

"See Jimmy anywhere in that mess?" asked Buck.

"Nope. I don't see Lou either."

Ike noticed them standing there. He rose from his chair and approached them. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Sergeant Buck Cross. This is Sergeant Bill Cody. We're from—"

"The NYPD," Ike supplied. "Yes, of course. We've been expecting you." He smiled hesitantly and extended his hand. "Detective Sergeant Ike McSwain." He looked past them. "But where are Kid and Louise?"

"They ran into Superintendent Shannon along the way. They're out in the hall right now."

"Ah." Ike had no further reply. He knew what it meant: Kid and Louise had grown increasingly closer and more demonstrative with each day that had passed. They weren't exactly snogging in the halls, but it was obvious that their attraction was rapidly escalating into something more. Ike, as well as the other officers, sensed another Nan/Pete situation on the horizon, and obviously Emma had as well. It was too bad really, Ike reflected, Louise and Kid were both great people, and if they'd been lucky enough to find romance, well, fair play to them.

But he could also see Emma's point, and remembering the brief, bitter division among the team after Nan and Pete's split, he knew Guv would be doing the right thing by nipping it in the bud.

"Is Jimmy around?" Cody inquired.

"He's out with DI Kenworthy interviewing a suspect. He should be back any time."

Buck was impressed. "So he's already in the thick of things?"

Ike grinned. "Just another day of burglary and murder in high-society London."

Immediately businesslike, Buck nodded thoughtfully. "Looking to all be related?"

"Yes. Eerily similar, in fact."

"And are the victims related to each other in any way?"

"The murder victims are not connected in any way, except through the burglary victims, who are all business partners." Ike admired this man's quick mind. Already he was putting things together, working methodically at the pieces of the puzzle he was being given.

"Guess we showed up just in time, didn't we, Buck?" Cody's cheeky grin caused Ike to laugh.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Cody, lucky them."

"Let me show you around," Ike offered.

He made quick work of introducing the two new officers around the station. Return greetings were polite, and in the case of several, quite friendly. Cody seemed immediately at ease by the time Emma Shannon joined them, Kid and Louise at her heels, both looking sheepish and avoiding anyone else's gaze. Buck had seated himself by Ike and the two were poring over files from the case.

"Well," Emma said briskly. "Happy Thursday to you all. Sergeant Cross and Sergeant Cody, I presume?" She nodded and smiled warmly. "Welcome to my team, gentlemen. I'm Superintendent Shannon. My door is always open, lads, and I think you will appreciate your time with AMIT in the months to come. Now where the hell are Nan and Jimmy?" she finished, abruptly turning cool and boss-like.

Noah looked up from his desk. "Just spoke to Nan about ten minutes ago, Guv."

"Where is she?"

"She and Hickok are on their way back."

"Excellent." Emma slapped her hands together, rubbing them expectantly. "Something's up today, folks. I can feel it in my bones." She pointed her finger at her officers, a gleeful expression on her face. "We're getting somewhere, I just know it."

Her enthusiasm was contagious. "She's terrific," Noah whispered to Buck and Cody. "You'll really like working with her."

"Enough whispering, Dixon, unless there's something you'd like to share with the rest of us," Emma said with feigned sternness. Everyone laughed, and Noah ducked his head in embarrassment.

Lou made her way over to Cody and Buck. "Well, well, well, look who was let through Customs."

"Good to see you too, Lou," said Buck.

"I could get used to it here," Cody said with a nod of approval. "Weather's not that great, but a big city like this—plenty of excitement for a guy like me."

His friends laughed. Reaching to ruffle his mop of blond hair, Lou commented, "Sure isn't the same when you're not around, Cody."

He looked pleased. "Why, thank you, Lou. And by way of returning the compliment, it's good to see you too."

"He's just trying to butter you up so you'll tell him about that officer he's already got his eye on." Buck's tone was a warning.

"Already?" Lou squeaked. "I knew you were a fast worker, Billy, but you've been in the country less than twenty-four hours!"

"Can I help it if I'm a ladies' man?" shrugged Cody. "Anyway, I only saw her for five seconds, Lou, it's not like I've made a move yet."

Buck snorted. "Notice he said 'yet.'"

"Well, who is she?"

Eyes lighting up, Cody launched into a fervent description of the woman's attributes, indicating her figure with a rather brazen turn of his hands.

"Sounds like Philippa Brierly," Lou said after a moment. "She's a Constable here; she's pretty nice. I'll introduce you."

"No need, Lou, no need. I can handle the introductions on my own; just wanted a heads up, is all."

She slugged him, shaking her head good-naturedly as he laughed. Suddenly he sat up a little straighter, eyes fixed on the door. Lou looked to see Jimmy and Nan pushing through the double doors, brows furrowed in separate concentration as they spoke to one another.

"Well, now, I may have to rethink my position, here. Who's she, Lou?"

"Fidelity, thy name is Cody. That's Anna Kenworthy. _Inspector_ to you; she outranks you."

"In more ways than one, I'm sure," Buck commented dryly.

Not deterred in the least by Buck's statement or his friends' snickers, Cody just grinned. "She may be out of my league, friends, but I assure you a man can always aim higher." His eyes were that of a jeweller appraising a rare and precious gemstone as he appreciatively took in Nan's slender form from head to toe. Letting out a low wolf-whistle, he shook his head in admiration. "My, my, they do grow them fine in England."

"I hope she shoves your come-ons down your throat so hard it makes your head spin," grinned Buck, though privately he agreed with Cody's assessment.

"Don't worry, she will," added a new voice. Kid had joined them, seating himself easily on the desk by Louise. His smile was warm and affectionate as he spoke of his friend. "She's got a sharp tongue on her."

"She just needs the right man to soften her up."

Kid laughed heartily and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'd back off if I were you. You may be just the man to do it, Cody, but the last thing we need around here is another office romance."

He was met with Louise's knowing gaze. Both were still stinging a bit from Emma's hallway lecture. If they had once thought they were being discreet about their fledgling relationship, they were now under no such further delusions.

* * *

_N_an was twisting her hair back into a haphazard tangle when the tall blond materialised at her side. His smile was a triangle of mischief and mayhem. She pulled the fastener around her hair and regarded him coolly. "May I help you?"

"Pardon me, but I don't believe we were properly introduced. I'm Sergeant William Cody of the New York Police Department's Special Task Force."

With a wry grin, a bit amused at his playfulness, Nan said, "How do you do, Sergeant? I'm Detective Inspector Anna Kenworthy of the London Metropolitan Police Force's Area Major Incident Team." She eyed him with a smile. "My title's longer than yours."

"Call me Cody," he said, his eyes dancing.

"Nan."

"Care to show a gentleman the sights of this fine city?"

"And this gentleman you speak of…?"

"Standing right here, in your lovely presence."

"Don't waste much time, do you?"

"Not when there's a charming beauty such as yourself around," he acknowledged. "I don't believe in the waiting game."

"And I don't believe in dating co-workers." She spoke politely but firmly, and hoped desperately that a thunderbolt wasn't hurled from the sky to strike her down for lying.

"It doesn't have to be a date," Cody said smoothly. "Just two co-workers being friendly."

She had to laugh. "I'm sorry, but no. Why don't you have Louise or Jimmy show you around? They'd be excellent guides. Or Kid. But not me."

"Okay." He didn't seem terribly disappointed. "Can you tell me where I can find Philippa Brierly?"

Laughing again, this time at his quick bounce back from rejection, Nan gave him instructions on where he could find PC Brierly and watched as he disappeared down the hall, whistling merrily. She buttoned up her overcoat and peeked through the doors out into the late afternoon. It looked colder than ever. Much as she loved taking the tube, she didn't relish the thought of walking down to the station. With a deep sigh, she pushed open the door.

The wind was at seemingly arctic temperatures and hit her full in the face. Gasping at the shock of its cold temperature, Nan began making her way down the street. She held her coat closer with unprotected hands, and fingers sliced with paper cuts from the many files she had sorted through today. Her bones ached with lack of sleep, her muscles were tense and rigid from hours sitting hunched over at her desk. Thank God Guv had agreed to let them go early, although it wasn't really good news. It was hardly promising that things were going so slowly Emma was able to send them home already. Her premonition of better things to come had been false; the officers had sat around all day hashing and rehashing facts that had been run into the ground by now.

The wind burst through, lifting up the edge of her coat, a hard slap against her stocking-clad legs. 'Brilliant decision to wear a skirt today, Nan,' she berated herself silently. 'Really genius.'

Maybe a taxi wouldn't be such a bad idea.

As if on cue, a black cab pulled to a halt on the street beside her. The door opened and Jimmy leaned out. He looked wonderful, fresh and rosy-cheeked, like a Jane Austen hero; London air seemed to agree with him.

"Get in," he said, not to be argued with.

Nan lifted her head and held her chin proudly. "I'm fine. I'm going to catch the tube."

"You're insane." Before she realised what was happening, Jimmy was out of the cab and physically hauling her into the warm interiors of the plushly-lined car. She didn't even have time to protest before he was slamming the door shut again.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked.

Jimmy looked at Nan. "Well? Where to?" At her tight-lipped, unyielding expression, he said, "Come on, Nan, don't be stubborn. It's much warmer in here, especially if you're going to insist in walking in that skirt."

"Are you implying I'm dressed inappropriately, Lieutenant?"

"No, Inspector," Jimmy replied, blatantly humouring her. "You're perfectly appropriate and respectable for a day at the office. What I'm implying is that you have a lot of leg showing and you must be cold."

The cab driver snorted with suppressed laughter. Nan made a feeble murmur of outraged protest.

"Nothing wrong with that. You have very nice legs," Jimmy commented.

"Let me out, Jimmy."

"Don't be stupid. If it's the cost that's worrying you, I'll pay the damn cab fare."

She didn't reply.

"Fine. I'm more than happy to take you back to my hotel." He turned to the driver again. "Excuse me, sir? Cavello Hotel, please."

"You're joking!" Nan stared at him in disbelief. "Macon Road, please, driver."

Jimmy waited until they were well on their way before closing the privacy partition. "I'll pay the fare," he said after a moment.

She sighed. "No, it's fine. I was thinking of getting a cab myself, but it probably would have been difficult to get a free one in this weather." She glanced at him. "It was good of you to stop for me, Jimmy. Thank you."

"I beg your pardon? Do my ears deceive me? Was that an actual expression of _thanks_ coming from your lips?"

"Don't push your luck, Lieutenant."

Jimmy stared down at his hands. "Look...Nan..."

"Let's not start this, Jimmy, please."

"You don't even know what I was going to say. Maybe I wasn't going to talk about that night, maybe I was going to talk about something else entirely."

"You're right," she relented. "I'm sorry. Please go ahead."

"About that night..."

Nan groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Nan, but I'm tired of you avoiding the topic," Jimmy grinned. "You're the one who said we're adults and we should act like it, and you're the one who's been acting like a teenager!"

"Obviously embarrassment has no meaning for you!"

That hit him hard. "You were _embarrassed_?"

"Weren't you? We acted like a pair of drunken fools, Jimmy. I've never done anything like that before!"

"Neither have I," he admitted.

"Well? Weren't you a bit embarrassed?"

"No."

"Of course you were!"

"I'm being honest with you, Nan. I wasn't embarrassed. Confused, yes; surprised, absolutely. But not embarrassed. Look, I've been drunk more times than I can count; and during those episodes, I'm sure I was in the company of reasonably attractive women about ninety-five percent of the time; and of those ninety-five percent, I was probably talking to about half of them while I was drinking."

"Are you calling me 'reasonably attractive'?"

Jimmy ignored her. "Do you see where I'm going with this, Nan? Not once, not in all those nights, did I ever go home, or wake up, with a strange woman."

"Now you're calling me strange!"

"You're being deliberately obtuse. _Listen_ to what I am telling you, Nan: I have had the opportunity before and I have _never_, not in my most inebriated state, had a one-night stand. Why would I all of a sudden have one with you?" As he gazed at her, he was dimly aware they were putting on quite a show for the driver.

"So what you're saying," Nan said slowly, "is that you must have been extremely, out-of-your-head, drunker-than-you've-ever-been-before drunk to spend the night with me? _Very_ flattering, Lieutenant."

Jimmy threw his hands up in the air. "I give up on you, Nan. I really do. You are, without _question_, the most stubborn woman I have ever met!" He looked out the window and ranted to the streets, "I'm sitting here trying to tell you that I don't think Sunday night was just an accident of liquor and hormones. I'm trying to tell you that I'm attracted to you, that when I'm around you I don't give a damn about Lou or anyone else, that I feel like myself again for the first time in years, and all you can do is sit there and be sarcastic! I really hate that about you."

He stopped, out of breath, running short on anger. Nan gazed at him, but he continued to stare out the side of the car.

"That was quite a speech," she said quietly.

"Thank you."

"Now who's being sarcastic?"

"I learned from the best."

That made her smile. "Jimmy," she said. "How can you say those things? We've known each other barely two weeks, most of which we've driven each other completely barmy."

"Barmy?"

"Crazy. Mad. Over the top. Round the twist. _Insane_! It's not the most promising start for a relationship, Jimmy."

"You're not even willing to give us a chance. You said yourself you've never done anything like that before. Why did you decide to Sunday night?"

"Because...because..." This was insane. She wasn't going to sit here and go through this all over again. Blocking out the memories of Jimmy's mouth on hers and the dizzying sensation of wanting to be with him, Nan stared at him, trying to form the words. She was a reasonable, level-headed woman and he kept throwing her follies back in her face. It was unbearable, really.

"Because...?" he demanded. "Because _what_?"

"Just because!" she spluttered.

"Oh, well-argued."

"I don't feel the need to explain my actions to you!"

"Because you don't _have_ an explanation! Ha! Admit it!"

"You're infuriating."

"Well, that makes two of us."

They were silent until they reached Nan's street. There was a look in Jimmy's eyes that suddenly touched her. He was so earnest, so good-hearted. She'd never be any good for a man like him. They were all wrong for each other. No matter how right it had felt at the time, and Nan had to admit to herself that it had felt very right. Still, how stupid was she really to get involved with another co-worker, and one she'd known less than a month? She had to set him straight.

"Come up for a coffee, Jimmy. We can talk."

He eyed her sceptically. "A talk?"

"Let me explain things. I'll do my best, truly."

Jimmy paid the driver and followed her up the stairs of her building. He stared at the loose ends of the messy bun in her hair, strands sticking out in every direction. He admired the slim lines of her long neck. He wanted to reach out and take her hand and hold it as they walked up the two flights of stairs. He was having a hard time dredging up any semblance of the feelings he had once had for Lou.

Granddad's umbrella was resting outside her door. Staring at it perplexed, Nan finally shrugged and turned her key in the lock. "He comes over to check on my plants," she said to Jimmy. "I'm a desperate gardener, which must come as a great shock to you."

Granddad was sitting on her sofa, a package in his hands, staring at it, his face as pale as his beard. When he saw Nan, relief flooded his features. He jumped up and pulled her into his arms. "Oh God, my darling, darling girl. Thank God, thank God, thank God."

"Granddad, what is it? For Heaven's sake." Nan withdrew herself from his tight grasp and stared at him, concerned.

He thrust the package at her. "This," he said. "I'm sorry, love, I opened it. I had to."

"What is it?" Jimmy picked up easily on the older man's panic. One look at the envelope told him precisely why the older man had tampered with something addressed to his granddaughter. Written in prominent black marker, the front of the envelope bore the words, _I'm watching you._

But Nan hadn't taken notice of the envelope yet. She was too used to her grandfather's panics to have given it much credence just yet. "Granddad, this is James Hickok. Jimmy, this is my grandfather, Will Kenworthy."

"Yes, how do you do." Her unfailingly polite grandfather barely acknowledged Jimmy. "Open it, Nan. See for yourself."

It was a letter. Type-written on a thick sheet of stationery. _'You're a beautiful girl. It would be a shame to ruin that beauty with a tarnished reputation. I'll be in touch_.'

Mute with fear, Will withdrew a stack of photographs from the package and handed those to his granddaughter as well. Fingers numb, Nan sorted through them with increasingly frantic speed, eyes widening: photos of her standing outside Nigel Atherton's pawnshop the day of the questioning, photos of her in the pub with Jimmy, leaving the pub with Jimmy, leaving Jimmy's hotel the next morning. The last three were of Nan in her bedroom, standing before her window in her nightgown, looking up at the sky through drawn curtains, tears streaming down her face.

With a cry of panic, the photographs slid from Nan's hands onto the floor.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_There's a spy in the sky_

_There's a noise on the wire_

_There's a tap on the line_

_And for every paranoid's desire_

_there's always someone looking at you_

"Someone's Looking at You" - the Boomtown Rats

* * *

_A_n hour later Will and Jimmy had still not managed to calm Nan down. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clutching her elbows, her breathing ragged. Will was trying to force a cup of sweetened tea down her throat, but she wouldn't take it.

"Please, love," he begged, handing her the tea and a chocolate biscuit. "Please take it. You've had a shock, you need it."

"No, I'm fine, Granddad, really."

"_Please_, love. It's what we did during the war. It's for shock."

"No thank you!" Her voice came out in a rapid burst.

"Anna Rose Kenworthy, you drink this tea and eat this biscuit right now." Will's tone was hardly above a whisper, but managed to convey stern authority.

Meekly, Nan reached for the tea and biscuit. She began to sip carefully at the hot liquid. Jimmy was at her side, staring at her in concern. At last Will seemed to notice him and he said politely, "I beg your pardon, Mr—Hickok, was it?"

"James Hickok," Jimmy nodded. "I work with Nan on the AMIT."

"Oh." Any hope Will may have had that Nan had found herself a nice, ordinary boyfriend were dashed, but he didn't show it. "I apologise for my abrupt greeting earlier, Mr Hickok. I'm Will Kenworthy."

"Good to meet you, sir."

Then both men focused their attention on Nan. Theories forming in their heads, they each spoke simultaneously.

"It's Pete, isn't it?" Granddad said, at the same moment Jimmy proclaimed, "I think Binchy did this."

"_What_? _No_! Absolutely not." Nan's response was vehement. "Pete did _not_ take those photographs. He did _not_ send that letter."

"Who else could it be?" demanded Will. "I hate to point it out to you, love, but you hurt him terribly and he still hasn't quite got over it."

"I've seen the way he talks to you at work, Nan. I've seen the way he looks at you. It's disturbing. I wouldn't put it past him to do something like this."

Nan glared at Jimmy. "Thank you so much for adding your two pence worth, Jimmy." Then she encompassed her grandfather in the gaze. "Both of you seem to forget that Pete was _in_ some of the photographs!"

That stopped them for a moment, each recalling the shots of Nan standing with Louise, Pete, and Jimmy in Covent Garden after speaking to Nigel Atherton. Then Will said tentatively, "Perhaps he had someone else take those?"

"Granddad, really! What do you think he did? Pulled a friend aside and said, 'Look, mate, I'm stalking my ex-girlfriend, but I need your help taking some snaps in Covent Garden'?"

"It could be something like that. He could be trying to throw you off-track," said Jimmy.

She fixed him with another steely look. "Forgive me, but I do know Pete a little better than you do. This just isn't like him."

"Nan, you're a police officer! You of all people should know that 'This just isn't like him' are the most famous of famous last words," he scoffed.

"You're really not helping, Jimmy, you must know that," she intoned sarcastically.

"Darling, I think Mr Hickok is just trying to help. He's obviously very concerned-"

"Look! Thank you—both of you—for being here and for being concerned. But Pete didn't do this, I _know_ he didn't do this."

"Then who? Darling, who else could have or would have wanted to do this?"

"I don't _know_, Granddad! I'm a _police_ officer; I make enemies every bloody day!"

Will sank down opposite Nan. Jimmy noted that the white-haired man seemed even more distressed than his granddaughter. "I knew something like this would happen one day," he was murmuring, as if to himself. "I just knew it."

With startling tenderness, Nan put her hand on her grandfather's knee and squeezed it affectionately. "It'll be all right, Granddad. Don't worry, okay?"

"How can I not? Nan, this is the sort of thing I've always feared. Jamie said I was an idiot to worry so much, but look! I've been justified!" Will wrung his hands and didn't look at all pleased at being proved right.

Nan sighed. "You're going to work yourself up into a frenzy, Granddad. Now who needs the tea and biscuits for shock?"

To Jimmy's surprise, Will smiled at that. He said, "I know I'm just a silly old fool, but you know I worry. I worry all day, every day. Why couldn't you have been something nice and safe like a journalist...or a doctor, or something? You could have been an assertive woman of the 90s as a journalist or a doctor, surely?"

"I think you ought to go home, Granddad," Nan said softly. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"But—"

"Paulie needs you more than I do, and Uncle Jamie's probably scraping a can of tinned beans out for supper. You know that when you get home too late to fix supper you always regret it."

Grimacing, Will nodded. "The man has no discerning taste whatsoever. Now your Aunt Elaine—that woman had the palate of a true gourmand." He was full of admiration.

"Run along, then."

"No, I'm staying here with you."

Nan gritted her teeth and willed herself not to scream. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten. "I'll be fine."

"That's what you've always told me, but look at these photographs, Nan!"

"Granddad, I'm a police officer! I can take care of myself."

"Can you protect yourself against a camera?"

"Jimmy will stay with me."

Jimmy, who had been following the exchange between grandfather and granddaughter with quiet interest, took a moment to realise what Nan had said. He gaped at her. Will turned to him, painfully grateful, his face suddenly flooded with relief.

"Won't you, Jimmy?" She shot him a hard, 'Just play along' look.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Um, right. Right. Absolutely."

"Splendid. Splendid. Thank you so much, Mr Hickok." Will pumped Jimmy's hand in exuberant appreciation. "Oh, that's such a relief, you can't imagine."

"No problem," Jimmy lied. "Anything for a fellow officer."

Will didn't catch the abrupt nudge in the ribs his granddaughter gave her co-worker, or the wince that followed from Jimmy. "Well then, I ought to be going."

"Yes, Granddad. Wrap yourself up, it's quite cold outside."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Mr Hickok, truly. Take good care of her."

Jimmy plastered a smile on his face. It felt unnatural and false, but Will seemed to buy it. "I promise, sir. My pleasure."

Escorting her grandfather to the door, Nan put an arm across his back and leaned close to him. "He will be sleeping on the couch, won't he, Nan?" Will whispered.

"Yes, I promise."

He stopped to draw her into his arms again, and this time Nan welcomed the hug, pressing her face against his warm woollen overcoat, smelling his familiar scent of spices and London air, the inexplicable Granddad-ness of him. She felt as safe and comforted in his arms as she had been when she was a little girl. She hugged him hard. "I love you, Granddad. I'm sorry for being so difficult."

"Nonsense." Will kissed her forehead. "You're just like your father. Wouldn't have you any other way."

With more profuse thanks to Jimmy, Will finally left. Jimmy and Nan walked to the window and watched as the lone figure emerged from the building in the fading light of evening and headed in the direction of the tube station. Then, remembering suddenly, Nan snapped the curtains shut.

"Thanks for backing me up, Jimmy. I really appreciate it. I'll be all right now."

"I'm sure you will," Jimmy replied, pulling off his overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack. "What should we have for dinner? I'm starving."

Nan stared at him. "Jimmy, you don't have to stay. That was just something I said—"

"To get your grandfather off your back, I know. But I told the old guy I'd stay and I can't go back on my word."

"He won't know the difference!"

"Ah, but _I_ would. I promised him I would take care of you." His eyes were twinkling. "And I never break my promises."

"You can take care of me by _leaving_. That would suit me just fine."

"Probably. But I'm not leaving." Trying hard to keep his voice light, Jimmy smiled again. He did have every intention of keeping his promise to Nan's grandfather, but the truth was it was a welcome excuse; he was frightened for Nan. Whoever this stalker was, whatever his intentions—it had to be a 'him', Jimmy was sure of it—they were sinister and possibly harmful to Nan's well-being. He had seen the fear in her eyes, he had felt it in his own heart. Someone was out to hurt her.

"Jimmy..." she said threateningly.

He pretended not to notice. "I don't feel like going out. Can we get something delivered?"

"Jimmy..."

With a thoughtful glance at the ceiling, he mused, "I'm kind of in the mood for Chinese. Are there any good Chinese places around here?"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Then again, there's nothing like good pasta. What about Italian?"

He was looking at her with determination in his eyes. Nan saw that he was not going to back down. He had some misguided notion that he was protecting her, which was very sexy, but irritating as hell.

Still, she couldn't honestly say that spending another night with Jimmy was an entirely unappealing thought...even if the circumstances weren't exactly similar to Sunday night's. He was gorgeous and intelligent, with a lovely smell about him, and he obviously wanted to stay, for whatever reason. There were far worse ways to spend an evening.

"I know a great Indian take-away," she said.

* * *

_S_ometime in the middle of the night Jimmy found himself wide awake. He had been sleeping soundly on Nan's incredibly comfortable sofa when suddenly his eyes flew open and stared into the dark of night. Nan's room was just on the other side of the wall by the sofa, and he heard her stir restlessly, murmuring softly to herself.

Remnants of the evening's feast lay scattered around Nan's otherwise neat and orderly flat. Half-empty cartons were strewn across the table, a bottle of Hudson Blue sat on the floor, warming. The moonlight flooded the room, illuminating everything clearly.

Neither of them had talked much. Mostly they had watched television, and then Nan had slipped a video in. Around nine they had both fallen asleep, exhausted. Jimmy, who had been expecting heartburn at the very least from the spicy meal they had imbibed, was pleasantly surprised to find that it had settled well on his stomach. In fact, he was hungry again. He remembered setting the chana masala on the corner of the table; that would make a nice snack.

Too late he remembered the bottle of cider. His foot collided with it, sending it streaming across the carpet. "Dammit!" he exclaimed. "God!" He wiped his bare toes against the dry patch of carpet and hopped into the kitchen on his other foot. Misjudging the distance, he walked smack into the counter protruding from the tiny kitchen. He heard the sharp crack of his shin against the rough surface. "_Dammit_!" he roared.

The hallway light flipped on. Jimmy winced in the sudden brightness and saw Nan's approaching figure. She yawned and folded her arms across her chest. "What have we here?" she asked. Her eyes squinted in the bright light and she looked amused. "A comedy of errors?"

"Very funny. Help me sit down, would you?" She helped to manoeuvre him onto the barstool by the counter. He glared at her chuckle of mirth. "Thanks."

"What on earth did you _do_ to yourself?"

"Just spilled some stuff and then stepped in it and then cracked my shin," he mumbled, his words barely discernible.

Nan laughed again. Jimmy's eyes were adjusting to the light. He could see that she was dressed in a pair of baggy, blue-and-red-checked pyjama trousers that hung low on her hips and a ratty old t-shirt that barely covered her stomach and was emblazoned with the Manchester United logo. Her hair, which she had braided before bedtime, had escaped from the confines of the plaits and stuck out at odd angles here and there. For someone made out like a tomboy, she looked remarkably sexy, Jimmy noted darkly.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Just my dignity."

"Sorry." She grinned impishly. "We're fresh out of dignity."

She knelt down before him and lifted the leg of his trousers, peering at the wound. She made a face. "Ooh, that's a nasty one." Quickly she lifted the First-Aid kit from the loo and within seconds she had expertly applied ointment and a plaster to his shin. "You'll live," she pronounced finally.

She smelled like soap and the faintest traces of some flowery perfume. She was so different from Lou, earthier, more attainable somehow. Lou had always seemed to him some ethereal creature, impossible to reach, too perfect for someone like him. Nan, for all her sophistication and savvy, was somehow more real to him than Lou had ever been. Maybe deep down somewhere, he had always known that Lou could never be his.

"Well, I'm wide awake now, I don't know about you," Nan murmured through a yawn. She was rifling through the white cartons on the table. "Was there any Bombay potato left?"

She flipped on lamps as she went through the living room and soon the room was awash in bright yellow light. Nan found the carton she was looking for and dug in. Jimmy joined her, limping slightly.

"Don't be such a baby," she said upon seeing his pained expression. "Be a man, Lieutenant, it's only a bruise."

"Here, let me show you exactly how I got this bruise." Jimmy lifted her leg and made as if to bang it against the edge of the coffee table.

"No, no, no!" she shrieked, falling back against the sofa with a giggle. A stray bit of potato flew out of her mouth.

"Charming. Haven't you ever been taught not to talk with your mouth full?"

"I don't think it applies when someone is threatening you with bodily harm."

"I wouldn't hurt you, Nan, you know that."

His words were light-hearted, but Nan sensed something deeper and she blushed. She took another big mouthful of cold potato to cover her growing confusion.

Jimmy had picked up another carton and was spearing the food eagerly. "I'll probably regret this later on, but this is damn good food."

"Spices don't agree with you, Lieutenant?"

"It's good for a man to walk on the wild side every now and then. And what's with calling me 'Lieutenant' all the time? I think once you've slept with someone you can drop the titles and go on a first name basis." Her blush spread further. He laughed appreciatively. "I really enjoy doing that." He gestured to her pink cheeks. "Making you blush. It's a hell of a lot of fun."

They ate in silence. Somehow Jimmy felt it was one of the cosiest moments he'd had in a long time. Nan stirred the food around with her fork. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but Jimmy didn't push.

"Jimmy?"

"Hmm?" He tried not to look too interested.

"Those photographs...they really scared me."

It wasn't so much the words as the tone of voice, so quiet and hesitant and filled with fright, that caused Jimmy to set the food aside and draw her into his arms. Nan knew this wasn't right, to be sitting here like this with this man she barely knew, but it felt so safe to be held and she needed to feel safe again. Burying her face in the expanse of Jimmy's soft cotton t-shirt, she fought back the tears and the memories of those photographs, capturing moments of her life—insignificant moments it was true, but _her_ life nonetheless.

Jimmy said nothing, and it was extremely comforting to her, just to be held, her messy hair stroked gently under his broad hands. He seemed to understand, she could feel that in her soul, though he never said so.

"Seeing those photographs...someone's watching my _life_, Jimmy. It may not be much, but it's _mine_! I felt so..." She couldn't find the word.

"Violated?"

"Yes, exactly." A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, joined quickly by others, wetting Jimmy's shirtfront. "How dare they? Why? Why _me_? Who cares about _me_, Jimmy?"

"We'll find him, honey, I promise you. He won't get away with this."

'Honey.' The endearment had slipped so easily off his tongue; he himself hadn't even noticed it. But Nan had. Her ears rang with the one simple word.

Jimmy held her as she trembled softly in his arms. He felt ridiculously protective, certain that he could take care of this frighteningly independent woman if only she would let him. She was so fascinating and mercurial, with so many very different, very human sides to her. There were layers to Nan, layers upon layers, and he had only just begun to skim the surface. He wanted to know more—why she went through the trouble to erect such high walls around herself, and then made herself so achingly vulnerable for those she loved enough. Why she had been such a pliant, tender creature on Sunday night and then by Monday morning was a stranger again. And most of all, he wanted to know why those last photographs had shown her crying at her window, her face so heartbreakingly sad.

Maybe he could ask her tomorrow. Maybe things were changing. Maybe he was falling in love. He didn't have the answers; he so rarely did. Right now, he would just settle for holding her.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_I love Paris in the springtime_

_I love Paris in the fall_

_I love Paris in the winter, when it drizzles_

_I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles_

"Paris in the Springtime" - Cole Porter

* * *

_T_he photos caused quite a sensation in the nick. Nan's fellow officers seethed with fury and each privately imagined catching the guilty party and making him pay in some horrific and highly degrading way. When one of their own was under attack, the officers tended toward a vigilante sense of justice.

After much deliberation, Nan and Jimmy had decided not to include the photos showing the two of them kissing and leaving the pub together.

"We'll keep them," Jimmy had said. "And if we have to show them to Guv, we'll show them. But until then..."

"Yes, until then," Nan had agreed. They were both thinking the same thing, 'Until then there's no need to drag this out into the limelight.' There was plenty to go on without them. If they retained a nagging sense of guilt in going against their own ethics, they each kept it to themselves.

They had, however, left in the snaps of the two of them in the pub together-in earlier, more reserved moments-and even those showing Nan exiting Jimmy's hotel.

"If we don't try to over explain it, no one will even notice," Jimmy had warned her reasonably. "They'll assume you were dropping me off or something. They won't think twice about it unless we start acting like there's something to hide."

His advice had been sound, and Nan was glad she was able to follow it, though she had the wildest urge to snatch the specified photographs up and shriek, "It's not what it looks like," before hurling them out the nearest open window. She stood her ground, however, and didn't so much as flicker an eyelid when they were looked at again.

Jimmy was right: no one even seemed to notice. They skimmed through the photographs, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the fact that Nan was leaving Jimmy's hotel in the same clothes she had been wearing in the pictures taken at the pub, taking what they saw for granted, knowing Jimmy and Nan as well as they thought they did.

Except for Lou, who wisely decided to keep such speculation to herself, and Emma, who did not hesitate to drag Jimmy and Nan into her office shortly after the photographs were turned in as evidence to be dusted for prints.

She paced back and forth behind her desk for several minutes while the two young officers sat nervously in the chairs in front of her. Jimmy tried desperately to appear nonchalant, and Nan did her best to look the same; both only succeeded in appearing as stricken with apprehension as they were.

Finally Emma stopped and regarded them both with a deep sigh. She shook her head. "When I said to be friendlier with each other," she commented wryly, "I didn't mean quite _that_ friendly."

Nan's face burned an embarrassed red. Jimmy pulled at a suddenly constrictive collar. "Sorry?" he said, trying to buy them time.

"Jimmy, don't," admonished Emma. Her implication was clear: _'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.'_ She sat down at last. The expression on her face was weary and uncertain. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Nan, I really don't."

The shame burned deeper. Nan felt like the resident tart of the Met. She knew that wasn't Emma's intention, but she felt it all the same.

"Guv, this wasn't Inspector Kenworthy's fault," Jimmy urged. "I mean...what I mean is, we're both to blame."

"Give me some credit, Lieutenant. Do you think I don't know that? I'm not here to pin a scarlet 'A' to her chest." Emma replied, smiling gently.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Nan couldn't meet Emma's eyes. The silence lingered for several minutes. Then Emma cleared her throat and continued. "I don't relish this, Inspector, but you know the policy on office relationships. More importantly, you know _my_ policy. This isn't the first time we've had this talk."

"No, ma'am."

"And as I'm sure you're aware, this isn't even the first chat I've had to have this _week_." Remembering Kid and Louise, Emma inwardly shuddered. She didn't fancy the idea of interfering with the lives of full-grown adults. No one had ever warned her that becoming a Superintendent would mean playing mother hen.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stop bleating yeses and no's at me, Nan!" Emma exclaimed, suddenly dropping her reserve. "Now you know I hardly have the power to forbid you to see each other outside of work, but I _would_ ask that you be more discreet than you have been."

That irritated Jimmy. "Excuse me, Guv, but I think we've been _very_ discreet. Apparently you put two and two together by looking at those pictures, but can you honestly say that up until then we'd given you any reason to suspect there was anything unprofessional going on?"

"No," Emma admitted. There had been longing looks on Jimmy's part, it was true, and subtle, tell-tale gestures from Nan, but the truth was there had been nothing to cause any real suspicion.

"Inspector Kenworthy and I have handled this situation very maturely, boss. We have not brought our personal relationship into the office. We have kept our office behaviour on a professional level, I don't think anyone can argue with me there. Whatever has happened, or is happening, between Nan and myself will be kept exactly there-between Nan and myself." Jimmy stopped, daring a quick peek at Nan from the corner of his eye. She wasn't looking at him, but her body was tense with awareness. "Beyond that," he said, "I don't feel we owe any explanation."

Emma looked at him with admiration evident in her eyes. She had known this boy had a good head on his shoulders from the moment she met him. He had spoken politely, even deferentially, but with firmness and dignity. And she knew he was right. Other guvs may not have seen the situation in that light, but Emma Shannon had learned long ago that she was not like most guvs.

"I appreciate that, Lieutenant." Gazing at their shy, embarrassed faces, she longed to hug them both. She felt such motherly affection for all her officers that sometimes it threatened to overwhelm her professionalism. More than once Sam had cautioned her against getting too emotionally attached. "Right. We'll say no more about it, then."

At the door Emma stopped them. "Jimmy, I want you and Kidwell to take the ferry to Paris today. Gérard LaChaille has agreed to an interview. You should be back this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest."

Paris. Jimmy swallowed hard. "Is he willing to co-operate?"

Emma nodded. "Very much so. Find Kid; he'll give you all the details."

"Okay."

At her window, Emma watched them go. They walked several feet apart, apparently not speaking. She sighed to herself. 'Maybe they were on to something in the old days,' she mused. 'Maybe it's not such a bad idea keeping the men and women separate.'

Her phone rang. "Superintendent Shannon."

"Are you alone?" It was Sam.

Emma laughed and settled herself into her chair, making herself comfortable. "Yes, I'm alone."

A warm chuckle travelled down the line. "Good. How are you today?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Too damn far away from you."

Pleased, Emma said, "St John's Wood isn't exactly the moon, Chief Inspector."

"It may as well be when you're not with the woman you want to be with."

She was a veteran police officer, highly ranked, with several commendations and awards to her name; she was a grown woman with a staff of officers at her command, with enough power and influence to get pretty much whatever she wanted. All this, and yet a few simple words from a man like Sam Cain made her go weak at the knees.

"When can I see you again, Emma?" His voice was impatient.

Emma closed her eyes and stretched her neck. "I don't know, Sam...this case is really working me up into a frenzy. I think we're finally getting somewhere."

"I think so, too. Which means that the two commanding officers-that is, you and I-deserve a break. We deserve a nice dinner out. What do you say?"

She let his warm, throaty voice wash over her for a minute, her eyes still closed against the harsh glare of her office lights. She hadn't had a decent meal since this case had started; she was used to grabbing a take-away curry or a hamburger here and there as needed. To dress up and go out, to sit across from that handsome, slightly freckled face for an hour and laugh with him and make him laugh…It sounded heavenly.

"You're hesitating, Emma..."

"I accept."

He cried out in feigned shock. "I'll alert the presses."

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere."

"Pick you up at eight?"

"I'll be ready."

Sam paused. "You know, I'm pretty crazy about you, Superintendent Shannon."

"I'm pretty crazy about you, too, Chief Inspector Cain." With a smile, Emma heard his whispered goodbye and hung up the phone. She opened her eyes, still wearing a broad smile.

Nan and Jimmy were standing in the doorway, Jimmy's hand still on the doorknob, the remaining photographs in Nan's hand. They both wore the same faintly amused expression. She knew they had heard everything, and if not everything, then they had heard enough.

"We came to bring some more photos from the package Nan got last night. Guess I should have knocked," Jimmy said.

Emma swallowed hard. "Guess you should have."

* * *

_T_he ferry ride to Paris passed quickly. Jimmy and Kid were in France by one o'clock. One of Gérard LaChaille's limousines was waiting for them at the dock.

"We could have taken the Chunnel," Jimmy remarked. "We would have had our own car to drive around."

Kid shuddered visibly. "Ugh. The Chunnel. I'd rather fall into the ocean and drown than have all that water collapse on top of me."

Jimmy laughed. "Not really an attractive thought, is it?"

"Not terribly, no." Kid grinned, grateful. "Besides, look at this posh limo. We can travel through Paris in style."

"Looks like LaChaille is willing to give us the dirt on Westward," Jimmy said as they slipped into the elegant grey limousine.

Kid nodded. Then he said, "You don't like Westward, do you?"

"Be glad you haven't met him. He's a pompous, arrogant bastard. And he's creepy as hell."

"'Creepy,' huh?" Kid was laughing.

Jimmy laughed, too, realising how petty he had sounded. "He's just one of those guys who think they're put on the planet to charm all the ladies and patronise all the men. He makes my skin crawl."

"And did he succeed?"

"In patronising me? Hell yes, he succeeded."

"Did he succeed in charming Nan?"

Jimmy looked at him, carefully weighing the question. There was more to Andrew Kidwell than he let on. It was entirely possible that his sharp eyes had seen a lot more than Jimmy gave him credit for. "I think he did for a minute. But she's too smart for that."

Gérard LaChaille's company was in the heart of Paris, a medium-sized, unimposing building of classic design. Jimmy and Kid were ushered in like visiting dignitaries and shown to a comfortable waiting area complete with coffee, sandwiches, and a ravishingly beautiful secretary who eyed both men with a hungry gaze as she sat behind her desk. She was obviously appraising both men, but both Kid and Jimmy did their best to ignore her as they sat across the room.

"She doesn't hold a candle to Louise," Kid remarked off-handedly.

To his surprise, Jimmy found that he had been thinking of Nan and not Louise. "Ah, no," he said quickly.

Kid slid a knowing look toward Jimmy. "Or Nan," he said nonchalantly.

Before Jimmy could reply, the secretary's intercom buzzed and a voice spoke in rapid French over the loudspeaker. The two men could discern their names, and then the secretary stood and motioned for them to follow her.

Gérard LaChaille's office was enormous, with a high ceiling and broad, undecorated walls. His massive oak desk was situated in the farthest corner from the door and the room was sparsely furnished. It gave the impression that one had just entered a very large, well-decorated cave.

LaChaille himself was a small man, slightly built, about sixty years old. He was dressed sharply, but his clothes were simple. He greeted Jimmy and Kid warmly and without affectation.

"Please, sit. I understand you have come today to question me in regards to Monsieur Westward." His words were heavily accented, but his English was perfect.

"Yes, sir. More specifically, we'd like to discuss his previous involvement with your company," Kid agreed.

LaChaille paused thoughtfully, hands laced together. Jimmy and Kid looked very young to him. Truly it was a young person's world these days. He shrugged to himself and then spoke to the officers. "Julian Westward was one of the most promising young businessmen I have ever had the fortune to work with...at first, that is."

"How long did he work for LaChaille Investments?" asked Jimmy.

"Just over three years."

"And then he was asked to leave?"

LaChaille hesitated, but only briefly. He nodded in affirmation. "_Oúi_. I found it to be the best decision for all involved."

"And shortly thereafter," Kid said slowly, "you were robbed and your brother was murdered, is that correct?" Kid's blue eyes were gentle, his voice perfectly even. Years of training had taught him tact and care in these situations.

LaChaille's reaction was subtle but painful. He winced ever so slightly in response to Kid's question. "_Oúi_. Phílippe was murdered that same night."

"And the police found the criminal just weeks afterward?"

"They say they did." The older man's voice had a hard edge to it.

"You don't believe them?"

"I don't believe they have the correct criminal, no. A criminal perhaps, but not the one guilty of my brother's murder." LaChaille paused. "Are we playing games, _Monsieur_? You know very well I believe Julian Westward to be guilty of the crime. That is why you are here, is it not?"

Jimmy and Kid were taken aback at LaChaille's frankness, though they tried not to show it. "We are here, Monsieur," Kid said, "to gather information regarding Julian Westward's employment during his tenure at LaChaille Investments. Mr Westward has given a slightly different timeline of events."

Gérard LaChaille laughed sceptically. "No doubt he would. He must be _très sot_-very foolish, yes?-to give false facts that can be checked so easily."

"Can you please tell us why you dismissed Mr Westward?"

"Bad investment deals. _Comment vous faire le dit_? _Détourner de la compagnie?_" He paused for a moment, stumbling over the words. "How do you say it? Taking funds-from the company? Without consent?"

"Embezzlement?" supplied Jimmy.

"Ah. Yes. _Mercí. _Embezzlement. Also rumours of money laundering. An inappropriate relationship with another partner, Colette Gordon."

The officers' ears perked up. Colette Gordon was a familiar name; she had even been mentioned in Westward's statement. Neither she nor Westward had been affected by the burglaries. Kid made a quick note on his ledger.

"Mr Westward claims he left of his own accord," Jimmy said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kid wrote.

"Nothing could be further from the truth."

Kid looked up from his writing. "Tell me, Monsieur, if those were the circumstances of Mr Westward's departure, why were they settled so amicably? Why was he not arrested or brought under investigation? Why was he _asked_ to leave and not _made_ to leave?"

They were unprepared for the look of misery on LaChaille's weathered face. His mouth fell at the corners, his eyes dimming considerably. He sighed a heavy sigh and covered his face with his hands. When he looked at them again, he said, "I was not in my right mind. My wife, you see, she was very ill with cancer. Very ill. _Terriblement._ I was at her sick bed day after day, watching her slip away. M_on coeur se cassait._ My heart was breaking. On top of all this I find my company in near ruins, clients walking away...so much stress! I just wanted it to end. I didn't want more. So I asked Julian to leave. I _paid_ him to leave. Now I wish I had done things differently, but at the time-" He sighed again. "At the time I just wanted it all to be over. _Fini._"

Neither Jimmy nor Kid asked if Gérard LaChaille's wife was better. It was painfully obvious that the woman had passed away and her husband was left nursing the broken heart he had spoken of. They sat in respectful silence till LaChaille seemed to collect himself.

Then Jimmy asked gently, "Why do you suspect Julian Westward, sir?"

"He had the motive, the opportunity, the means. It was so _systématique_, officer, attacking the members of the firm. _Très évident_. Very obvious. I could not believe Julian would act so obviously. He, who had been sly and subtle as he stole thousands and thousands of francs from my office. The man is capable of evil, officer. I believe that. No one can convince me of anything different."

"I appreciate your-" Jimmy was cut off.

"Listen to me, _officier_," LaChaille was suddenly distressed, his eyes bright with urgency. "I may regret speaking so freely, but I must tell you that Julian Westward is capable of evil, of atrocities that go beyond jewel theft. He has murdered, he will murder again. It is my belief that he has. It is my belief that these crimes in London are Julian Westward's doing. And unless you do everything in your power to catch him and put him to justice, to make him pay for these horrible acts...unless you do that, _monsieurs_, it is my belief that Julian Westward will walk away a free man."


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Please allow me to introduce myself_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste_

_I've been around for a long, long year_

_Stole many a man's soul and faith_

"Sympathy for the Devil" – the Rolling Stones

* * *

_H_is hair was longer and a good deal greyer than the last time she had seen him; he now wore it in a careless ponytail at the back of his head. He had put on a few pounds, but it suited him; he had also cultivated his penchant for cowboy hats and still maintained an aversion to shaving from the looks of it. But his eyes were as lively and bright as ever, and when he smiled it was still the same quick, warm smile that lit up the room. A smile that gave her hope.

Rachel took a step forward and threw her arms around him. "Teaspoon!" she exclaimed fervently, hugging him with all her might.

Teaspoon returned the hug energetically, tossing his two duffel bags aside. "Well, this is nice. It ain't often I get a beautiful woman to welcome me at the end of a long trip."

"Too long a trip, Teaspoon," she said meaningfully. She pulled away to look into his shining eyes. "It's been too long."

"Don't you worry about that, darlin'. Life's too short to waste time worrying about the past. I accept your apology."

"I can't thank you enough for coming. You didn't have to do this. I didn't mean to drag you all the way to England."

"Don't be ridiculous." They were walking through the airport, Rachel's arm tucked through his. "I told you to call me if you ever needed anything, and that's what you've done. You're not dragging me anywhere, I came of my own accord."

"It was so good of you, Teaspoon, especially to rush out here like this."

He waved her words away as if they were a tangible thing. "Oh, pshaw. I had the time off-plenty of it, in fact. And the NYPD owes me. They know it and I know it. I just walked in there and told them I was cashing in my four weeks vacation, and they didn't say a word about it." This was not entirely true; Teaspoon's superintendent had kicked up quite a fuss, especially with half of Teaspoon's team gone and four Met officers to replace them. But the resistance had not lasted long and he didn't want to worry Rachel. "I've got Barnett to oversee the team, and I know he won't make a move without Russell and Waddell watching him like hawks. And if not them, Majors will keep an eye on 'em."

"Russell, Majors, and Waddell?" Rachel asked with interest.

"They oversee the Special Task Force. Good group of officers."

As they drove through London, Teaspoon was wide-eyed at the sites. "My Lord," he breathed in comment. "What a city."

"I didn't think London would impress you so much," grinned Rachel. "You've lived in Manhattan for years now."

"True. But I'm a country boy at heart, you know that. Texas is in my blood. Big cities never cease to amaze me. 'Specially a place like this...all this history. Westminster Abbey, for God's sake! BuckinghamPalace!" He shook his head. "I can't believe you've lived here all these years."

"I love it," Rachel said simply. "Sometimes I miss Nebraska, but I really do love it here."

He reached over and patted her hand. "Good for you, sugar. I'm glad for you."

Despite Rachel's protests, Teaspoon insisted on being driven straight to the Ladbroke Grove station. "Rachel honey, I got people there, I got contacts," he said.

"Don't you want to rest, Teaspoon? You've had a long flight. You've crossed a few time zones." Rachel was protesting, but with a teasing grin. She knew she could no more talk Teaspoon out of this decision than she had ever been able to talk him out of anything once his mind was set.

"They don't know I'm coming," Teaspoon said gleefully when the station was in sight. He was like a child eager for the moment when he could jump out from behind the door and shout, "Surprise!"

"And you just can't wait to spring it on them, can you?" she chuckled.

"You got that right. I sure do miss those kids of mine. Didn't expect I would so much, but they're like family to me in a lotta ways; them four especially. They're like my own flesh and blood. They keep me lively."

"I can't imagine you needing anyone's help to keep lively, Teaspoon."

She held onto Teaspoon's arm tightly as they entered the nick, bracing herself for the onslaught of questions she was sure would be forthcoming. Julian had called her a dozen more times since that first night; he never left a message, but Rachel knew it was him just the same. She would sit at home staring at the phone in fear as it rang shrilly, cutting through the air. Only Teaspoon's arrival had any power to assuage her fears. He was a comforting presence. She felt better just having him at her side.

"Aloysius Hunter to see Superintendent Emma Shannon," Teaspoon said importantly, pressing his slightly protruding stomach up against the receptionist's desk, leaning against it as if he belonged there.

The young, uniformed officer behind the desk stared at him in confusion. "May I ask what this is regarding, sir?"

"Official business, son." Teaspoon winked.

The officer, whose identification badge read 'Crawford,' smiled at Teaspoon's wink. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but something about this man encouraged it.

"I'll see if she's available, sir." He dialled an extension and spoke after a moment, "Yes, Sergeant McSwain, this is PC Crawford at the front desk. Is Superintendent Shannon available?...She is?...There's a Mr Hunter here to see her, Inspector...I'll send him in." PC Crawford looked at Teaspoon. "She's free, sir; she's in the incident room. Take a left here and it's just down the corridor, right at the end, you can't miss it."

Teaspoon tipped his weather-beaten black cowboy hat at the young officer. "Much obliged, Crawford."

Crawford just grinned and returned to his computer. Teaspoon took Rachel's hand again and squeezed it. "Just you keep by my side, Rachel. You'll be fine."

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to go back here with you."

"If anybody has anything to say about it, they can answer to me."

There was no doubt about it; Rachel knew she had made the right decision asking Teaspoon for help. He sailed into the incident room as if he had every right to be there, and when all heads flew up at his arrival, he just smiled and took it all in stride. DS McSwain, whom Rachel remembered from her first visit to the station, was approaching Teaspoon, a puzzled smile on his handsome face.

"Mr Hunter, I believe? I'm Sergeant McSwain; how may I help you?"

"Pleasure to meet you, son. I'm looking for Superintendent Shannon."

"She's just over there, taking a phone call. Is there anything I can help you with?" Ike was unsure as to why this gentleman was standing before him with every appearance of belonging there. He could not have explained why he had urged Crawford to send the unknown Mr Hunter back to the incident room. It was only a feeling he had had; who could explain feelings? And now this Hunter fellow seemed a natural part of the surroundings, even in his black Stetson cowboy hat and grizzled five o'clock shadow.

"I'm the commanding officer of the NYPD's Special Task Force, son. Cody, Cross, McCloud, and Hickok are mine."

"Ah!" Ike relaxed then, understanding. "Then it's a great pleasure, Mr Hunter. Your officers speak very highly of you." His smile faded as his eyes landed on Rachel Dunne. His brow furrowed. "Ms Dunne?"

Rachel stepped forward then, smiling nervously. Teaspoon put a hand to her back, reassuring her of his presence. "Hello, Sergeant."

"Rachel Dunne here is a friend of mine," Teaspoon said. "She and I go back a long ways. She's asked me to come over for personal reasons, but I felt it was best to keep the police abreast of the situation."

"I see..." Ike said, not seeing at all.

"As soon as Superintendent Shannon is off the phone, I'd be more than happy to discuss it with you as well, Sergeant." Instinct told Teaspoon he could trust this young man to do right by Rachel. "In the meantime, where are my boys? Where's Louise?"

"Well, Louise and Cody are in the file room digging up some background information for the case. Buck just stepped out with Noah to get everyone lunch, and Jimmy's due back from Paris any minute now."

"Paris, huh?" Teaspoon's eyes twinkled. "My boys are getting worldly on me."

Ike just grinned. "May I introduce you around, Chief Hunter?"

"You may do that very thing, son."

Ike could see that within minutes of introduction, Teaspoon had charmed all the officers. They responded to his friendly drawls with broad smiles and eagerly volunteered information about themselves, the case, and their opinions of the NYPD officers who had joined them. Teaspoon spent a few pleasant minutes chatting with them all, thrilled with the outcome: his boys and Louise had made a good impression, already proving they could hold their own with this elite team. Moreover, they were obviously well-liked, and Teaspoon's fatherly heart warmed to the knowledge.

His eye was caught by a tall girl with delicate bone structure as she crossed the room to Ike. They fell into whispered conversation, gazes darting in Teaspoon's direction. Teaspoon watched Ike gesture as he spoke; he had never met anyone as expressive with his hands as that young man.

Emma Shannon at last hung up the phone, a peeved expression in her eyes. Iain Langley materialised at her side and Teaspoon could see the same sort of exchange taking place. She nodded firmly when Langley had stopped and was at Teaspoon's side in a moment.

"Chief Hunter? I'm Emma Shannon."

"A pleasure, Superintendent. May I introduce Rachel Dunne?"

"We've met," Rachel assured him. She wished she were anywhere but in the station. Teaspoon was in his element here, among these clever, boisterous police officers who had already accepted him into their circle; she, on the other hand, felt distinctly out of place.

"Ms Dunne and I have been friends for quite sometime, Superintendent. She wasn't aware I was connected with your officers, but she's called me here as a personal favour, and I feel this is something that the police should be made aware of. Particularly under the circumstances of your current case."

"I assume your officers have kept you appraised?" Emma was leading them to her office.

"As best they can," answered Teaspoon.

"It's been difficult to find much time to breathe," Emma answered knowingly. "I'm surprised they've even had time for a phone call as busy as we've been."

Her office was a small, cheerless little room, sparsely decorated with furniture. She was apologetic at the state of it. "Nasty little place, isn't it? It's one of the drawbacks to being with the AMIT," she said. "I have to make my home wherever the current station can spare room. Please, sit down. How can we help you, Ms Dunne?"

Again Rachel remembered why she had liked this woman so much upon meeting her. There was such empathetic frankness in her eyes, genuine kindness in her demeanour. In a determined voice, Rachel poured it out to the serious, earnest-faced Superintendent as Emma pulled her long reddish-brown curls thoughtfully. She listened intently to all that Rachel said.

Rachel told the story simply and, she hoped, without malice. When she was finished she drew in a shaky breath and met Emma's eyes at last.

"Well, I think it's time we called Mr Westward in for a little visit."

"Oh, no… He'll know. He'll know I told the police..."

Teaspoon's hand was on her elbow, again comforting. "Calm down, Rachel. You don't need to be scared. Everything will be fine. We can protect you."

"Ms Dunne," Emma said gently. "I am not able to discuss the details of this case, nor am I able to disclose to you our suspicions. So please listen carefully to me..." She waited until Rachel's eyes were locked with her own. "We will do everything in our power to make the guilty party pay."

It was all in her eyes, and Rachel saw that. Emma Shannon believed her; moreover, without betraying the rigid professional code of the police, Emma Shannon had told her that Julian Westward was the prime suspect. She was offering help and it was clear that she would do whatever she could to follow through.

* * *

"Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling. From glen to glen, and down the mountain side."

Nan and Jimmy eyed Julian Westward with ferocity. He sang loudly, paying them no heed, his long arms crossed over his tailored suit. The tape was still going; they had no intention of giving him even one moment of unrecorded peace.

Superintendent Shannon entered the room, her curly hair swishing against her face. She carried a thick pile of papers and ledgers in her hand. She slammed the pile on the table. Julian Westward flinched just a bit.

Emma nodded at Nan and Nan spoke into the microphone, her voice strong, no-nonsense. "The time is 18.32. Detective Superintendent Shannon has just entered the room. DI Kenworthy and Lt Hickok still presiding."

Emma's words followed hard on Nan's. "Right," she said, her eyes locked with Westward's. "Mr Westward, would you care to tell us where you were the evening of September the twelfth?"

Julian Westward barked with deprecating laughter. "Oh come, come, Superintendent," he admonished. "So hackneyed, so clichéd! Surely a woman of your rank and intelligence can come up with a better line than that!"

The words seemed not to have struck Emma at all. She just smiled benignly and folded her arms over her chest in a gesture matching Westward's. She stood, looking down at him with her flashing eyes and ignored his last statement. "Mr Westward, would you care to tell us where you were the evening of September the twelfth?"

Westward sighed in frustration. Beside him his solicitor stirred, frowning. "I don't know why I bloody well have to go over this again, Superintendent," Westward spat. "I already gave a statement to that thick clod with the ginger hair. He _acted_ as if he were writing it all down."

Emma waved away his complaint. "Oh, we have a written statement, Mr Westward, taken down by our reliable Constable Alward...but what we're after right now is...well," she broke off to smile again, coolly, "you might say we're after something straight from the horse's mouth."

Nan and Jimmy hid their smiles.

The solicitor stirred again, clearing his throat in discomfort. "Forgive me, Superintendent, but I don't think there's anything to be gained from insulting my client."

A small smirk crept across Emma's face. "I beg your pardon. It was merely an expression." She didn't sound as if she meant a word of it.

"As I've told you already, Superintendent," Westward went on, "I was with my wife, Victoria. Victoria has _also_ given a statement to the police."

With a graceful motion, Emma slid into the chair behind her, crossing her legs, slinging her arms over the back. She was detached, regarding Julian Westward as if she didn't care. Only Nan knew how much she did. She felt her boss's eyes on her and knew it was her signal to take over.

"So you've said, Mr Westward." Her voice was brusque. "So you've said. And of course, we're meant to believe that your wife is a credible source, are we not?" She watched with sharp eyes as her words sunk in with Julian Westward. "Only, she's not, is she, Mr Westward? Not entirely."

"I don't believe this-" Julian spun round to glare at his solicitor. "Patrick, are you going to sit there and let them slander my wife?!"

"It's not slander, Mr Westward," Jimmy said. "Inspector Kenworthy is merely questioning the credibility of Mrs Westward as a witness."

Westward looked to his solicitor again. Patrick Smithy shrugged, blushing in consternation. "It's not really slander, Julian," he agreed sheepishly.

Westward made a disgusted noise. Then he looked to Nan again. "And just what are you trying to say, Inspector?"

"I'm trying to say, Mr Westward, that your wife, Victoria Dillon-Westward, is not the source of reliable information that she is purported to be." Nan pretended to consult her papers. "That's not even her real name, is it, Mr Westward?"

He didn't bother denying it. "People change their names all the time," he snorted in reply.

"True enough," acknowledged Jimmy, in perfect tandem with Nan. His tone of voice and deadpan expression mirrored hers exactly. "But we're not really concerned with those people, Mr Westward. We are, however, concerned with one Colette Gordon, formerly of 32 _Rue de Lyons_, Paris, France, formerly of LaChaille Investments."

Westward had begun to pale. Patrick Smithy was watching him curiously. "Julian? Julian, what are they talking about?"

"Really, Mr Westward, you've done a pretty poor job of covering your tracks," Emma jumped in again. "Did you really think we weren't eventually going to find out that Colette Gordon and Victoria Westward are one and the same?"

"I saw no reason to volunteer the information." He was trying to save face. His sharply-cut features were straining against his skin.

"Possibly." Emma's voice sounded as if she agreed with him, but the expression on her face was mocking. "And possibly you did not care to share the information."

"My not telling you about my wife's real name does not make me guilty of these crimes, Superintendent."

"It certainly links you a bit closer, though, doesn't it?" Jimmy asked curtly. "Out of all the partners at LaChaille Investments, which two were fortunate enough not to be touched by the crimes that occurred? Which two were suspected of, and asked to leave because of, a sordid office affair?"

Westward's jaw was clenching and unclenching, giving him the look of a man you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. He was furious.

Then Emma dropped her own bombshell. Withdrawing a stapled pile of papers from one of the files, she scanned it, saying, "Another interesting tidbit of information, Mr Westward, is this document we acquired on Nigel Atherton's Covent Garden pawnshop."

Nan and Jimmy exchanged a look. This was new to them; they hadn't heard anything about Atherton's shop.

"Would you be interested in who it names as proprietor, Mr Westward?"

"_I_ certainly would," the solicitor said in subdued anger.

"It names Colette Gordon as the owner and proprietor. I find that _very_ interesting, Mr Westward. Don't you?"

"Are you making accusations against me, Superintendent?"

"I think you know that's exactly what I'm doing."

"You can't prove anything."

"But it's my job to prove everything, Mr Westward." Her tone was so cool, so abruptly condescending.

Instead of growing angrier, Westward suddenly echoed the same tone. He relaxed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed again, handsome mouth cruelly sarcastic. "I shall be very interested when you discover you're wrong. Otherwise, you can't prove anything."

"Oh, I don't think we'll be proved wrong, Mr Westward," Nan said nonchalantly. "Quite the contrary, in fact. You see," she continued, her eyes boring into the arrogant face opposite her, "the case we worked on before this was a prostitution ring. The case before that was a nasty drug trafficking ring; and before that, another one, even nastier. This case is something of a cakewalk to us, a breath of fresh air. You're laying yourself open, Mr Westward. You're not being _quite_ as clever as you were six years ago in France. You're making things very, very easy for us. But until then we can't prove anything, you're quite right about that." She paused. "But only until then." She smiled, beautifully contemptuous. One slender finger was poised above the tape recorder. "This interview is now terminated at 18.55."

The loud click of the button was the last sound recorded. And then the room filled with silence.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_When you're standing at the crossroads_

_and don't know which path to choose_

_Let me come along_

_'cause even if you're wrong_

_I'll stand by you_

"I'll Stand By You" - the Pretenders

* * *

_T_heir time apart had been short, but Teaspoon felt his reunion with his New York officers called for a celebration of sorts. He invited the entire team out for drinks at the local pub, but as it turned out, only Kid, Ike, and Noah were able to join them. He was disappointed at the poor turnout, but Emma Shannon had agreed to come as soon as she was able to, and that made him feel a little better. Teaspoon was a social individual and never felt better than when he had a big crowd of people around him, laughing and talking and having a good time in general.

At the pub, everyone ordered their drinks and food and seated themselves at a long row of tables. He noticed that Louise sat quite closely to Andrew Kidwell, but he chose not to comment on the fact; nor did he comment on the disappointment he had seen in Jimmy's eyes when Anna Kenworthy had declined the invitation. Teaspoon was nothing if not a wise man. He had been dealing with young people too long not to know the signs of love in bloom.

There was an instant, easy camaraderie in the air when the eight officers and Rachel settled in. This particular combination of individuals had never broken bread together before, but you would hardly have known it from the easy laughter and chatter. No one seemed the slightest bit awkward. Conversations varied from here to there: first Buck chatting with Ike, then Ike chatting with Rachel, then Rachel laughing with Louise. Teaspoon watched the goings-on with a benevolent eye. This was the stuff that made life worthwhile, and you couldn't convince him of anything different.

"...nothing like the time Buck and Lou got lost in Central Park and ended up asking a beat cop for directions!" Cody was laughing. Teaspoon hadn't heard the discussion preceding this announcement, but it was obvious they were trading embarrassing stories, and that Cody found this one particularly funny.

Buck and Louise blushed simultaneously. "What can I say? We were greenhorns, and Central Park's a big damn place," Buck grinned.

"He was nice about it, Cody," Louise muttered reproachfully.

"And tickled to death to be escorting two high and mighty lieutenants back to their own precinct," Cody added mischievously.

Even Rachel was joining in the laughter, looking far more relaxed and at ease than she had at the station. She was smiling broadly, flushed and happy, the Rachel he remembered from years past, before Julian Westward had taken the light from her eyes. She was aging well, her face hardly more lined than the day he had first met her, some fifteen years ago. Teaspoon could see appreciative looks from all the boys except Kidwell, who was entranced by Louise, and Jimmy, who looked as if he wished he were a million miles away.

Teaspoon waved his hand teasingly in front of Jimmy's distant eyes. "Pardon me, Lieutenant Hickok, but we'd be delighted if you could grant us your presence tonight."

More laughter, hardest from Louise, who seemed to know the truth behind Jimmy's distance that evening. Jimmy started back to reality, grinning sheepishly at his chief. "Sorry, Teaspoon."

"Where were you, son? You sure as hell weren't here in the pub with us."

"I've got a lot of things on my mind, Teaspoon. It's nothing to worry about." He flushed under his chief's scrutinising gaze. He had always felt that the man could see right through him, somehow sensing what he couldn't, or wouldn't, say. Teaspoon had only seen him with Nan for a few minutes, but for Teaspoon a few minutes was usually all it took. He had probably figured it all out with one look, Jimmy noted wryly.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Teaspoon leaned in closer to him and said quietly, lips curling into a grin, "I wouldn't say it was a 'lot' of things, would you Jimmy? I'd say it was more like _one_ thing. One thing with big blue eyes and legs that go on forever, maybe?" He settled back into his chair, looking pleased with both his verdict and the spark of recognition in Jimmy's eyes. He nodded smugly and then returned to the laughter and conversation.

For his part, Jimmy couldn't find the heart to join in unless he was addressed directly. He was too worried about Nan. She had refused his help and insisted on going home alone. Watching her go, Jimmy had experienced the unpleasant sensation of being studied, but when he turned it had only been Julian Westward watching him as he watched Nan.

"Lovely girl," he had said. "Such a shame." The bastard.

Unless...unless...no, it was impossible. Jimmy's eyes widened in shock as his mind processed every thought: Westward clasping Nan's hand so tightly, looking into her eyes, gazing at her with sublime arrogance, as if to assure her that anything he wanted he soon came to possess; as if to assure her that he wanted _her_. Westward...he had known Nan's name. That day of the interview...he had called her 'Anna.'

"Jimmy?" Lou was calling to him from across the table. "Jimmy, what's wrong?"

Jimmy rose so quickly from the table that his chair tilted back and clattered to the floor. He looked so visibly startled that all conversation fell quiet and the officers stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. No, he couldn't say anything yet. They would think he was insane.

He had no clues to go on, only a feeling. A horrible, overwhelming feeling that he was right. "I have to go," was all he could say. He was remembering the rage in Westward's eyes, their mocking challenge to both Nan and himself.

"Go? Jimmy, where have you got to go?" asked Kid.

He couldn't tell them. How could he tell them? How could he justify his suspicions without any evidence, without any reason to be suspicious in the first place? "I just...I have to go. Excuse me." Without another word, he left the table, slipping into his jacket. Everyone watched him go.

"Would someone please explain to me what that was all about?" requested Teaspoon.

"I would imagine it's probably about Nan," Louise said finally, after a lengthy pause. "He's pretty worried about her." Teaspoon had been filled in on all the events preceding his arrival, including the photographs that had frightened Nan. Lou looked quickly at Kid, seeing acknowledgement in his face. "I think he's more shaken up than she is."

Rachel and Teaspoon exchanged a look themselves, a knowing look with parental overtones. "Kids today," whispered Rachel, crooking a grin at him. "What are we going to do with them?"

He chuckled in response and patted her hand. "The best we can with 'em, my dear. The best we can."

He was unaware of the attention his gentle affection had earned. Louise, Buck, and Kid were watching with raised eyebrows. Buck nudged Lou in the ribs, making a subtle gesture in Teaspoon's direction. "Ever seen him like this before?"

She smiled. "I think he's just happy to be with his old friend, Buck."

Buck shrugged. "He said they go way back, but I've never heard him mention her before. He's been married a few times already," he said, explaining to Kid.

"Ah, I see," Kid replied. "Well, I don't know this Chief Hunter of yours, and I've only just met Ms Dunne...but I'd say there's some sort of spark there, wouldn't you? I don't know much, but I know sparks when I see them."

Feeling his hand resting gently on her thigh, Lou coloured prettily to the roots of her hair. She nodded simply in agreement. "I know a little something about sparks too, I guess," she admitted.

If they thought they were fooling everybody, Buck said to himself, they were sorely mistaken. A blind man would have recognised what those two were already feeling for each other. Kid's eyes were blatantly possessive whenever he looked at her, and Lou blushed like a teenager the minute he stepped into the room. Shrugging to himself, Buck left the two lovers to their whispered conversation.

"Let's get out of here, Louise," Kid murmured under his breath.

Heart pounding, Lou couldn't meet his gaze. "Kid, what'll everyone think?"

He chuckled, the sound thrilling Louise to her fingertips. "They already think plenty, sweetheart, we might as well give them something of substance."

Louise tried, but she couldn't stop her giggles. It was in the way his eyebrows wiggled up and down in a manner he must have thought was quite dashing, but in fact gave him the appearance of a younger, handsomer Groucho Marx.

"Hey," he whispered, pretending to be offended. "That was my sexy line, why are you laughing?"

"Sexy? Kid, if you're trying to be sexy I suggest you drop the Groucho Marx impression."

"You do know how to take the wind out of a man's sails, don't you, Miss McCloud?" Her cheeky grin only made her more adorable to him. He dropped his voice even lower. "What do you say, Louise? Shall we go?"

It didn't take her long to decide, although there was a small inner debate raging within her. It had been such a short time and already she was dizzyingly in love with this man. She trusted him to the ends of the earth, but this feeling was so new and admittedly scary. One look in those amazing blue eyes, however, and she felt herself melt from the inside out. She laced her fingers with his and grinned, nodding toward their group of friends. "Time to say goodnight, Kid."

He leaned in close for a quick kiss and she shut her eyes in anticipation. The startling, shrill blast of his beeper separated them as they each jumped in their chairs. One by one, every beeper at the table went off, like a bizarre, electronic symphony, sending the officers diving for their coats and belts. The other pub-goers were glaring at their table, at the loud bursts of noise from the tiny pieces of technology.

The same message was flashing in each beeper: WESTWARD ROBBED. SECRETARY MURDERED. REPORT LADBROKE GROVE IMMEDIATELY. GUV

* * *

_N_an stood in the middle of her flat wearing an oversized cardigan and flannel trousers, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Some of the chill of the evening was beginning to wear off and she was feeling warm at last. But still frightened. She had all the curtains drawn and the door was locked tightly, but there was still the nasty, unsettling feeling that she was being watched. She cursed the unknown assailant for making her afraid in her own home.

She had declined Jimmy's offer of protection, letting her bravado take over for her common sense, which was a mistake she made often. Her grandfather and uncle Jamie had already phoned three times, worry heavy in their voices. She hadn't taken any of the calls, had just let them filter through to her machine where modern technology could fill in. She just didn't have the energy to field their calls and make them feel better about something that was beginning to worry her sick.

This was all getting out of hand. A fortnight ago she had been a police officer working on a case, a single woman on her own, it had all been that simple. Now she was getting involved in the lives of London's aristocrats, she was being stalked by some unseen foe, and she was evading the most attractive man she'd ever had the good fortune to come across.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Nan sighed and collapsed back onto her sofa, pulling the battered green jumper closer around her. Her skin crawled with nervous energy.

Light footsteps in the hallway. Nan jolted to awareness, her ears tuned in to every sound. The footsteps paused. There was a light scratching at her door. Nan shot to her feet, then froze, heart pounding. 'It's just Geoff,' she assured herself. 'Or maybe Granddad. Maybe it's Paulie.' But instinct told her that it wasn't.

Creeping ever so softly, Nan padded slowly across the room, moving like someone in a Monty Python sketch. She would have laughed at herself under any other circumstances. When she reached the door she stopped again, drawing in her breath, drawing her strength from some deep, inner reserve. And then there was a scuffle at the bottom of the door, and without warning a medium-sized manila envelope was pushed under the door and went flying across the floor with a strange, soft, whirring sound. Nan jumped ten feet in the air and let loose a terrified yelp. Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall. Before she could gather herself together, she heard the footsteps round the corner.

Furious with herself, Nan unlocked the door and dashed out into the hall. She didn't see anything, not legs disappearing round a corner, not the flash of a coat or shoes. She saw nothing. She padded back to her flat with limping shoulders, groaning to herself. Once in the flat, she locked the door again and stared at the envelope as if it were a snake, fascinated but too frightened to go near it. She tiptoed over to it and crouched down, not touching it, staring at the bold, black writing: DETECTIVE INSPECTOR ANNA KENWORTHY. There was no other writing, no other discernible traces. She stared at it harder, willing herself to reach down and pick it up.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Nan," she muttered to herself. "It's just a package. There's no ticking; it's not a bomb. It's not moving, so it's not alive. It's just a package. Probably more of those photos. Just open it. Photos can't hurt you."

But they could. She would never forget seeing that first set of them, realising her movements were being tracked and catalogued by someone she had never even seen. Or probably had, more realistically. She knew the statistics well enough, and the odds were good this person was someone she already knew. But who? That was the question that kept Nan from resting easy. She knew without a doubt that Pete Binchy was out of the question; it just _couldn't_ be him, and no one could convince her otherwise. He was the obvious choice, but she knew it was wrong.

So that left who?

The door shook suddenly as fists pounded on its wooden frame. Nan shot to her feet once. "Oh God, my poor heart can't take much more of this." She rested her hand on the doorknob, ready to whisk it open, and then the pounding started again.

"Nan! Nan, open the goddamn door!"

Relief flooded through her. She wrenched the door open to find Jimmy standing there-beautiful Jimmy in his t-shirt and jeans, his rain-soaked jean jacket and Yankees baseball cap, eyes flashing, stern jaw tightly clenched. Without thinking, she rushed forward and threw herself at him, feeling his arms slide around her, holding her close. "Oh Jimmy, thank God, thank God, thank _God_!" Then she began to babble almost incoherently, "I was just sitting here, Jimmy, and I felt so _strange_, and then there were footsteps, and then this envelope was pushed under the door, and then I screamed, and then I heard the footsteps run away, and I ran out into the hall, and there was no one _there_, Jimmy!"

"Shh, shh, shh..." He pressed a broad hand to the side of her face. "Calm down, honey, it's all right." There it was again-'honey.' Nan wondered distractedly at the endearment, at the tender tone in Jimmy's voice. "Come in here and let's see what's in that envelope."

His fingers trembled picking it up, but he didn't notice. He only felt rage and fear and fury battling within him. Someone was out to hurt Nan, that was painfully apparent; and whether or not it was Julian Westward was really irrelevant. Finding the son of a bitch was all that mattered. "Do you want me to open it?"

She nodded rapidly. "Yes, please."

Quickly he tore open the envelope and pulled forth the contents. He sighed shakily. "It's more."

Nan sank down further into the cushions. "I'm afraid to look."

"You don't have to, I'll do it for you."

"No...no, I _have_ to look. Let me see them."

"Nan, don't-"

But she had snatched them from his hands and was rifling through them, quicker and quicker as her panic increased: the two of them standing at the open curtains of her window the night before. Her grandfather entering the flat building. Paul standing on a street corner with his friends, smoking, laughing. Uncle Jamie tripping merrily along on his way to the shops. Nan leaving her building that very morning with Jimmy at her side, Jimmy's hand at the small of her back. But the ones at the end, those were the worst. Nan's blood froze in her veins as she sorted through snaps of her living room, her bedroom, the contents of her lingerie drawer.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

She looked at Jimmy. His face was pale and drawn tightly against his bones. He was staring at the letter that had been enclosed. Nan reached for it. "Jimmy, let me see."

"No."

"Jimmy, give me the letter."

He folded it in half. "No."

"Dammit, give me the letter, Jimmy!"

"No. Nan, I'm not going to." He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Why?" Her voice was low.

"It's not important. You don't need to get any more upset, Nan."

"I'll bloody well be the judge of that." But she said it weakly. She could see in his eyes what he was afraid to say. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Hesitating, he nodded. "It'll only upset you, Nan."

"I really should see it. Even if I don't want to."

"I know, but...baby, I don't want you to read it."

If he didn't stop calling her all those sweet, ridiculous names, she wasn't going to be able to keep control much longer. "Jimmy, please..."

"I know you have a right to see it, but Nan... Nan, will you please trust me on this?"

"Jimmy, I'm a grown woman. I can handle this."

"You shouldn't have to," he pleaded. "Just let me handle this, Nan, please."

"I don't need to be protected."

"Just trust me. Please."

"I...I..." She stopped, mesmerised by the look on his face, the tenderness in his eyes. It felt nice, being taken care of, as opposed to just worried about, which was all her grandfather ever did. "I'm capable of taking care of myself," was her final protest, and it sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Being a cop also means putting your trust in your fellow officer. Nan, you have to trust me."

"All...all right, Jimmy. I trust you."

They were still sitting, staring at each other silently, when the phone rang. They let it ring through to the machine, neither moving a muscle till suddenly Emma's voice filled the room. "Nan! Nan, where the hell are you? We've been paging you for nearly an hour!"

Jimmy reached for the phone. "Guv? It's Jimmy."

Emma didn't even stop to wonder why he had picked up Nan's phone. "Jimmy, where the hell have you two been? Why haven't you answered our pages?"

"I didn't get any page." He looked at Nan. "Did you?"

She shook her head, remembering. "I think I accidentally left mine at the nick."

Jimmy peered down at his beeper. The usual light was not flashing at him. "I think mine's broken."

"Never mind, never mind," Emma said. "Just both of you get your arses down here right now. Westward's been robbed and his secretary's been murdered and it's bloody chaos!"

"We're on our way."

Nan was already rising from the couch and disappearing into her room. "Just let me change!"

"Hurry up. Guv sounded like she was ready to skin us alive."

He waited till he heard the click of her door shutting and then he withdrew the paper again, reading the letter once more while his blood boiled.

_'__It would be wise for a beautiful, intelligent woman such as yourself to take care not to endanger herself in any way. You are treading on dangerous territory. These photographs prove that I can get to you, and when I get to you, Miss Anna Rose Kenworthy, I will not be nearly as pleasant as Mister James B Hickok. Though I would gladly prove my ability to give you pleasure, if given half the chance._

_'__You are worth far more than your existence of police stations and solitary dinners, of visits from Grandfather and cousin Paul. It is fortunate indeed that our paths have crossed, but it can become very unfortunate. You will be hearing from me again.'_

Nan emerged once again, the flannel trousers replaced by jeans, her long black jacket thrown over her cardigan and t-shirt. "I'm ready." Her hair was back in another messy bun and determination was etched in her features. Jimmy tried not to think of the letter, of the words of a madman intent on possessing Nan in some bizarre, unsettling way. "Let's go, Jimmy."

She was so tall and regal as she stood there, even looking like a cross between a street urchin and a sophisticate. There was such strength in her. As capable as she was of taking care of herself, Jimmy longed for nothing more than to do the job himself. This was the woman for him, there was no doubt about it.

Nan was standing at the door. "Jimmy, let's go."

Tucking the letter back into his jacket, Jimmy followed her out. Out into the rain and the cold and the unknown that awaited them.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Just what I'm going through_

_they can't understand_

_Some try to tell me_

_thoughts they cannot defend_

_Just what you want to be_

_you will be in the end_

"Nights in White Satin" - the Moody Blues

* * *

_W_estward's house was crawling with officers by the time Nan and Jimmy got to Wimbledon. Emma was nowhere to be found, but they ran into Langley almost immediately. A crowd of townspeople had gathered round the area that had been sectioned off by the police, and Langley stood before them, waving his arms and shouting for everyone to calm down.

"Iain!" Nan dashed to his side, tugging at his sleeve. "Iain, what's happened?"

Iain turned to her, looking overwhelmed and distracted. "It's a flipping madhouse, Nan! Jesus..." He ran his hands through his thick blond hair, causing it to stand at all angles. "Westward's throwing a complete wobbler. He says this is our fault, that we were spending too much of our time and energy focusing on implicating him, and that we let the real criminal strike again."

"Did he really use that term-'strike again'?" asked Jimmy dryly.

Langley broke off to grin in shared amusement. "Yeah, he did. He must have been brushing up on his Perry Mason reruns."

"He's trying to throw us off the trail," said Nan.

"He's not doing a very good job of it," Jimmy remarked. "Personally this only makes me more sure he's our man."

Iain was nodding in agreement. "It wouldn't be the first time the real criminal thought it would be a clever way to throw suspicion off himself."

Jimmy snorted. "I thought he was smarter than that."

"All the money and arrogance in the world doesn't mean you're a smart man," Iain said.

"Try telling that to Westward."

"Hickok! Kenworthy! You're being summoned!" Sam was in the doorway of Westward's house, outlined by the backdrop of shadows. "Langley, you keep that crowd back! I'm sending Emerson out here to help you!"

"Right!" Iain called back in affirmation, then muttered to himself, "Thank God."

"They going a little crazy out here?" asked Jimmy, concerned.

"Not crazy exactly...they're just asking me a lot of effing questions." He grinned. "They're a nosy lot, these rich folk."

"Hickok." Sam's voice was a warning. "Kenworthy."

"We'd better go," Nan said hastily.

At the door Sam began to lead them back to the scene of the murder. "Eric Jeffries, Westward's secretary of six months."

"How was he killed?"

"A blow to the temple." Sam indicated by pointing with his finger to the area on his own head.

"With what?"

"Something damn hard, that's all we know. We haven't found the weapon yet. Westward's a tricky bastard."

Nan and Jimmy eyed him sharply. "You sound pretty sure," Nan said.

"Do you doubt it for a minute?"

"No."

"No," Jimmy agreed. "It's him. I don't doubt it."

Emma was standing in the middle of the room, surveying as the forensic specialists knelt over the carpet, examining the remnants of blood. The body had already been taken away. Pete Binchy, Noah, and Cody were each combing opposite corners of the room. Nan could see others moving in and out of different rooms: Kid, Louise, Albarn, O'Hara, members of Sam's team, even Teaspoon.

"There's too many people here," Emma said in sudden irritation. "We don't need this many officers. Sam, let's start getting rid of some of them."

"Who stays?"

"Three of yours and three of mine. The rest of them need to be taking interviews from the neighbours."

"Where's Westward?"

"Upstairs being interviewed by Buck and Ike." She shot Sam a meaningful glance, a glance that seemed to imply she was not altogether hopeful of the outcome. "Nan, why don't you go up there and see how it's going? It's the second floor, third room on the left. Jimmy, I'd really like for you to help out with the neighbour interviews."

Panicking, Jimmy cleared his throat. "Why don't _I_ go up there with Buck and Ike?"

Both women stared at him, confused. "What's the difference?" asked Emma.

"I just...there's plenty of difference," Jimmy answered lamely.

Emma stared at him for a moment, pensive. Then she shook her head. "No," she said. "I've seen Westward with Nan; he responds to her. I think she's our best bet."

"Of _course_ he responds to her! He-" Jimmy broke off. Getting overly excited wasn't going to win him this battle. Taking a deep breath, he finished, "I don't think it's a very good idea, Guv, that's all."

Nan groaned. "Jesus, Jimmy, did she _ask_ you?"

"It's not a good idea, Nan. Just trust me on this."

"You keep asking me to trust you, Jimmy, but you don't explain yourself!"

"Trust is about not needing explanations, Nan! That's kind of the whole point!"

"You're not making _sense_."

Their argument had taken on a life of its own, as if they were the only two people in the room. Jimmy suddenly seized Nan's shoulders in his hands. "Jesus! Why are you so damn _stubborn_? Let me interview Westward. You shouldn't be doing it."

"Just take your hands off of me and let me go! I can handle Westward just fine. He doesn't scare me."

'He should,' Jimmy thought in response. She pulled her body away and his hands fell at his sides. Emma was waving her away, and he could only watch helplessly as she left the room. He knew Emma was watching him in turn, perplexed by his sudden objection to Nan interviewing Julian Westward. He would have given anything to be able to explain himself, but the words just wouldn't come.

Nan climbed the stairs, still completely taken aback by Jimmy's protest, still feeling the pressure of his hands on her shoulders. Why was he so bloody against her interviewing Westward? He had never seemed to doubt her capability before. That's what hurt most of all. Jimmy had always seemed to have faith in her before, and suddenly he was telling her she couldn't handle this. Well, she would show him, by God. Squaring her shoulders straighter, Nan held her head high and followed the sound of voices pouring from the room down the hall.

Westward's house was a strange maze of confusion. Upon entering the room Emma had indicated, Nan found herself in a large, open parlour with a smaller study off to the side and a loo at the back. Ike's strong, melodic Lake District accent was carrying from the study.

"Please, Mr Westward, tell us again how you found Mr Jeffries."

"I _told_ you." Nan could see Westward sitting upright in a chair by the window, white dress shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, hair dishevelled. "I arrived home, I parked my car in the garage, I entered the house through the door in the kitchen. I heard the stereo playing, I went in to ask Eric to turn it down, and I found him-_lying_ there, on the carpet, blood everywhere!" He stopped when he noticed Nan. A strange light of interest flickered in his eyes. "Good evening, Inspector."

"Good evening, Mr Westward." She didn't believe the sincerity in his tone for a moment, not with that clear, arrogant look never leaving his face. He was obviously doing his best to look distressed; instead he only looked smug, and even more condescending than usual.

"Look, I don't believe the treatment I'm receiving here!" Julian protested. "I mean, I realise I'm your prime suspect, but shouldn't the fact that I've just been added to the list of victims work in my favour? I mean, you _are_ the police, aren't you? You are supposed to be protecting my rights as well, isn't that right?"

"We've discovered some rather interesting information, Mr Westward," Buck interjected. "Along with the fact that your wife is the owner of Nigel Atherton's pawn shop, we've discovered that your alibis for the evenings of the Harbury and Truman parties are rubbish."

'Rubbish.' Ike smiled at that. Buck was picking up the lingo.

"I don't see how-"

Buck continued, "And that your presence was unaccounted for at several times the evening of the Claussen and Andropolous parties."

"So?" sniffed Westward. "I would imagine there were a lot of people who were unaccounted for several times those evenings."

Ike crooked a smile and leaned back against the wall nonchalantly. "You're the one we're concerned with, Mr Westward."

"And what about you, Inspector?" Westward looked at Nan, sarcasm emanating from him. "Do you believe I'm guilty of these crimes?"

Nan pretended to be shocked. "Surely you don't expect me to answer that question, Mr Westward?"

"On the contrary, I'm very interested in your opinion."

His eyes. His eyes were mesmeric. Nan's smile faded, her gaze locked with his cruel green one. There was something seductive about this man, for all his arrogance and coldness. Nan shivered involuntarily and broke her gaze free. Seductive or not, it was unsettling.

Ike was peering at her, concerned. Always sensitive, he seemed aware of the undercurrent of tension, more so than Buck, who was grilling Westward again.

"Would you say you were particularly attached to Eric Jeffries, Mr Westward?"

"We worked together for a little over six months. He was competent, reliable-"

"Were you fond of him?"

"I don't see the point. What's more, I refuse to answer any more of these ridiculous questions without the benefit of my solicitor."

If he was expecting a fight, he was sorely disappointed. Buck merely shrugged agreeably. "That's your prerogative, Mr Westward. Why don't you and I stay and phone him while my colleagues here inform our superintendent that we'll have an extra guest tonight at the Ladbroke Grove station."

Taking their cue, Ike and Nan exited, murmuring to each other. "Fat lot of good I did going in there," Nan muttered.

"No, no, it was good," Ike assured her. "There's something about you that gets to Westward. It helped in a way. He was a hell of a lot harder to deal with before you came in."

"Oh, great, so I'm the guinea pig. Send Nan in to get a reaction from Westward."

Ike laughed and slipped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her affectionately. "You're too hard on yourself, Nan. Why are you so hard on yourself?"

Leaning gratefully into his friendly embrace, Nan sighed. "Years of practice, Ike."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Well, ease up, will you? You're good at this job. You're good at everything you do."

"Ta."

He looked excited. "We're really getting somewhere, aren't we? Wait till we get him to the nick and lay it all on him!"

"Lay what on him?"

"Nan, haven't you heard? We're getting so close! He won't be left with a leg to stand on."

Nan smiled to hear the normally subdued Ike carry on so. "Can we link him to the crimes themselves?"

He frowned. "Well, no...not yet. Not as such."

"Then let's not get too excited yet."

* * *

_J_immy watched as Ike and Nan walked down the hall, arms around each other, laughing. He had seen Ike kiss her. It was only Ike, but still... Jimmy didn't like the thought that he had any rival for Nan's affections; it was proving to be a difficult enough battle as it was without another man interfering.

"I'd better go call Emily," Ike said when he and Nan had neared Jimmy.

"Who's Emily?" Jimmy asked hopefully after he had gone.

"His girlfriend-Emily Metcalfe. She's a Sergeant in Islington. Why?"

"No reason."

"Jealous, Jimmy?" she teased. Catching the look on his face as he turned his head, she stopped short. "Jimmy?"

"What?"

"You were! You were _jealous_!" She could hardly say why, but she was gleeful, enjoying his moment of misery.

"I wasn't jealous."

"Oh Jimmy, Ike's just a friend. He'd never think of me that way. He's too wrapped up in Emily to even look at anyone else."

Trying to hide his pleasure at the news, Jimmy turned back to her. Her blue eyes were sparkling, a smile on her soft lips. "And what about you? Is there someone _you're_ too wrapped up in to look at anyone else?"

"I...I don't know." _Liar_, she berated herself. She did know. She knew the answer to that question only too well.

Luckily, Pete stepped in then, vengeful even in moments of chaos. He came swiftly between the two, taking Nan by the arm. "Get a room, you two, and start acting like coppers when it counts," he hissed, dragging her away.

"Pete, let go of me!"

"You let go of her!" Jimmy was at her side, hand on Pete's arm, shooting daggers with his dark eyes.

The three of them stopped abruptly. "Pete, this isn't like you. Why are you doing this?"

"You two are acting so ridiculous, making eyes at each other like a pair of kids! Speaking of kids, you're rivalling Kid and Louise for utter childishness! Everyone knows you two have been at it for weeks now! Jesus, when are you going to start acting like a professional?" It was obvious his words were directed at Nan.

Nan winced, hurt more than she could admit by Pete's words. "You're a fine one to talk about acting professionally, Pete!" she replied softly.

"How I acted _then_ has no bearing on _now_. Now I'm just asking you to act respectably and not like a tart-"

"Don't you talk to her like that." Jimmy was fierce.

"Oh, God, not you too!" Pete spat. "I don't know why you waste your time. She'll chew you up and spit you out just the way-"

He got no further. Suddenly Jimmy had him by the neck, both his broad, slender-fingered hands wrapped tightly around. Jimmy threw him back up against the wall and leaned forward till they were almost nose to nose.

"Jimmy, don't!" pleaded Nan. He felt her hands on his back, desperately attempting to pull him back. "Jimmy, it's not worth it."

"Don't you ever-_ever_ talk like that about her again, do you hear me?" Jimmy's face was turning red with rage. "I said-do you _hear_ me?"

"Jimmy, he can't answer you! He can't _breathe_!"

"I'm not asking for a verbal reply. I'm only asking for a nod. A nod will do."

Gasping, Pete managed a nod. For a moment Jimmy still stared at him, as if assessing the sincerity of Pete's acknowledgement. Then he let go, releasing Pete. Pete fell to his knees on the floor, clutching at his throat, choking and gasping. Nan fell beside him, taking him by the shoulders. Jimmy just stared at him in disgust. "He's not worth it, Nan, why are you even bothering?"

"God, Jimmy! You are so lucky Guv wasn't around to see that."

"Nan, I was just-"

But Nan had looked into Pete's eyes. They were such a clear hazel, their soft and murky depths had once been the kindest she had ever known. Now they were filled with tears. She stroked his red face, watching the normal colour returning.

"This isn't the Pete I know," she whispered, smoothing his hair away from his face. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry..." he whispered back, raspy-voiced. He coughed harshly. "God, I'm sorry, Nan. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it..."

"Please stop. Please stop _all_ of this, Pete. Why can't we be friends?"

"Friends?" exclaimed Jimmy.

"Stay out of this, Jimmy, please." Nan ran her thumb along Pete's cheekbone. He melted at the tenderness in her eyes. "Pete, you've got to stop this. Please. God, you're making me miserable; you're putting us all on edge. I can't bear this anymore!"

"I didn't mean it. I just...I still love you, Nan."

Silently, Nan touched her lips to his cheek. "It's over, Pete. It's over, and you've got to stop this." She rose again and took Jimmy's hand. "Come on, we're supposed to round up Victoria Westward."

Curling his fingers around hers, Jimmy didn't afford Binchy another glance. He walked through the doorway feeling ten feet tall. It wasn't much, but it was a victory, and as far as this woman was concerned, he would take whatever victory he could get.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog_

_It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log_

_But when I get home to you I find the things that you do_

_Will make me feel all right_

"A Hard Day's Night" – the Beatles

* * *

_I_t was close to midnight before Ike and Kid joined Victoria Westward in an interview room that was thick with her foul-smelling cigarette smoke. By then she was livid and let them know it immediately.

"Three sodding hours I've been waiting in here! _Three_!" she cried, puffing away at her cigarette. "Without so much as a 'Please, Mrs Westward,' 'Thank you, Mrs Westward'! No, all I got was some spotty little snot-nosed _infant_ of a constable pushing me in here and locking me in for three hours!"

Ike was seating himself calmly across from her. "If you wish to register a complaint, Mrs Westward, please feel free to do so."

Victoria chewed menacingly on her cigarette stub and regarded Ike thoughtfully for a moment. She sat down at last. "Let's get this over with," she said. He was surprised to note that she was an American. He began the tape, speaking a quick introduction into its microphone, and then there was a moment of silence.

Kid spoke first. "We have several points we'd like to go over with you, Mrs Westward."

She winked in return. "Really, Inspector? And here I thought you handsome gentlemen dragged me in here for a social call."

Kid did not respond in the slightest. The woman was beautiful, but in a rigid, sharp-eyed way; she was too harsh with her dyed honey-blond hair and expensive clothes, her manicured fingernails and gold jewellery. He thought briefly of Louise, her soft sweetness and wide smile, and his breath caught in his throat. He stopped, shaking his head, and managed to continue. "Mrs Westward, can you please describe your whereabouts this evening?"

Victoria reached to the table to stub out her cigarette. She exhaled slowly, purposefully, staring at Kid as she did so. Then she crossed her long legs and sat up straighter in her chair, posture perfect. She was an elegant woman, there was no doubt about that. Even if she lacked the certain something that would have made her truly attractive.

"I was shopping in Harrod's-the rich woman's paradise."

"Were you with anyone?"

"I always shop alone."

"Do you have any proof to back up your claim, Mrs Westward?"

"I have a receipt from Kinkade's Gifts," she said. "I bought a few things there around 7.30."

Kid and Ike exchanged a brief look. Seven-thirty was no good to them; the murder had been established as taking place somewhere around 6 p.m. But Ike nodded.

"Yes, Mrs Westward, we'll need to see it."

"Do you think _I_ killed Eric?" she asked bluntly. "Is that what this is all about?"

"We simply need to gather information from you," answered Kid. "That's all, ma'am."

Sudden realisation dawned on her, and she looked amused after a moment. "You think it was Julian, don't you?"

Silence from the two officers.

"You _do_," she continued, gaining momentum as she spoke. "You do, you think it was Julian!" Victoria turned to her solicitor, who had been silent up to that moment. "Patrick, do you believe this?"

Patrick Smithy nodded solemnly and sighed. "I believe it, Victoria. I was here when they interviewed Julian, remember?"

Victoria ignored him. "My husband is _not_ guilty of these crimes, Inspector."

"Then I'll assume you're willing to co-operate with us to establish that fact," Kid replied easily. With one look at his clear blue eyes Victoria knew he wasn't going to back down. There was an overwhelming determination to the man not unlike the determination Julian possessed. She knew better than to try to fight it; it wasn't possible to win.

Her reply was subdued. "Yes, I'm willing."

"Excellent." Ike bestowed her with his best broad, professional smile. "Thank you, Mrs Westward."

Then Kid took over again. He crossed the room and leaned against the table, peering down at Victoria, down into her guarded eyes. "Mrs Westward, you attended the parties of Lord and Lady Harbury on the 12th of September, and Ursula and Dean Truman on the 16th of September, is that correct?"

"I don't remember the exact dates, but yeah."

"And on those evenings your husband, Julian Westward, did _not_ accompany you. Is that also correct?"

Victoria nodded.

"Let the records indicate that Mrs Westward has nodded in affirmation." Kid turned again to Victoria. She was seeing the new side of Kid that Rachel Dunne had seen: the bold, uncompromising police officer. "Can you please tell us where your husband was on those specified evenings?"

"He said he was working late at the office." Victoria shrugged. " But I would assume he was with his mistress."

That stopped Kid short. Another brief glance in Ike's direction. "His mistress?" he echoed a moment later.

"Yes, Inspector, his _mistress_." Another glimpse of amusement in her eyes. "You _do_ know what a mistress is, don't you?"

"Victoria," cautioned Patrick Smithy, his hand on her arm.

"His mistress, Inspector," continued Victoria. "I don't know her name or even what she looks like, but I know he has one. And I know he was no more working late at the office those nights than he was out running errands for Mother Teresa." Her words were bitter, but her tone wasn't. She seemed resigned and not particularly upset. Her gaze was level with Kid's: she wasn't backing down either.

"Interestingly enough," broke in Ike, "your husband doesn't give the same story at all."

Her only response was the lifting of one perfectly-groomed eyebrow.

Ike smiled benignly. "Indeed, your husband claims that on the evening of the 12th he was at a large party being given at Pembroke's. Are you familiar with Pembroke's, Mrs Westward?"

Nodding, she said, "It's a restaurant on Hyde Park Corner."

"And that on the evening of the 16th he was dining with an acquaintance, Christopher Astley, at the same restaurant. Do you know Mr Astley?"

"Yes. He and Julian go back years. They were at university together."

"And yet you say your husband told you he was working late those nights," Kid said.

Again she shrugged. "That's what he told me."

"But why wouldn't he just tell you where he really was? Surely there was no harm in that."

"I don't pretend to know my husband's thought processes, Sergeant McSwain."

Kid made a quick waving motion with one hand and stood. "It doesn't really matter, though, which story belongs to whom. You see, Mrs Westward, none of them hold up. They've all been proven wrong."

Only the slight discoloration as her face turned a pale pink revealed that Victoria Westward had been affected at all by the declaration.

"In fact," Kid said, "one of your husband's colleagues remembers quite vividly that Mr Westward suddenly left Pembroke's at around six-thirty. As for Mr Astley, he was unable to be reached for comment, but Pembroke's has no record of a reservation for either your husband or Mr Astley."

"That doesn't mean anything," she protested.

"No," agreed Ike. "But it doesn't work too well in his favour, does it?"

Kid's voice grew hard. "And on the evenings of the Claussen and Andropolous parties, do you think it would be fair to say that you were not accountable for your husband's whereabouts for a good majority of the evening?"

Victoria paled once more and grew defensive. "It was a _party_, Inspector, not a prison camp. I don't keep tabs on my husband. I'll bet there were a dozen wives there who didn't know where their husbands were half the night."

"We're not concerned with them, Mrs Westward. We're concerned with _your_ husband."

"This is ridiculous..." she muttered under her breath.

Then Kid began to move in for the grand finale. "Mrs Westward, why exactly did you change your name?"

"How is that relevant?" she asked, voice suddenly scaling higher.

"I think you're aware just how relevant it truly is," Ike answered, relentless.

"I _wanted_ to, that's why. That's enough reason, isn't it?"

Kid leaned down over her. She could smell the fading scent of his cologne; he was so close that it was dizzying looking into his eyes. Victoria pulled back a bit. "And it has nothing at all," Kid said, "nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you and your husband-Julian Westward-left your former place of employment under scandalous circumstances?"

"Really, Inspector," interjected Smithy. "There's no need to be so dramatic."

Kid was mockingly incredulous. "Dramatic?" he repeated. "Mr Smithy, there's no need to dramatise embezzlement and money laundering. They're pretty dramatic by themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

The edgy panic that had begun to descend on Victoria suddenly dissipated, and she was as cool and collected as she had been only moments earlier. With great deliberation she picked up her pack of cigarettes, removed one, drew it between her lips, and struck a match. Eyes closed, she held the match to the end of the cigarette and inhaled long and deeply. Then she opened her eyes, exhaling hard, lips forming a small 'o.' When she spoke her voice was hard and laced with steel. "What I will say, Inspector, is that neither Julian nor I were ever accused or convicted of those crimes. What you have is pure evil-minded gossip, with no evidence to back your claim up, and you know it. The fact that I changed my name, or that Julian's alibis have been proven wrong is hardly enough to convict my husband of these crimes. You haven't got a leg to stand on, Inspector. Julian's ex-wife waltzed in here with her slanders and her wild accusations, and you grasped at the straws she held out to you. That's all. No proof, no witnesses, nothing. _Nothing_. I'd call that shoddy police work, wouldn't you?"

Ike and Kid had grown silent. In less than sixty seconds she had reduced them, their case, everything, to rubbish. Each man wondered if they truly were grasping at straws, relying on suspicion and past circumstantial evidence to catch a man, instead of logic and reason and proof.

"And what about the fact that your name is listed as owning Nigel Atherton's pawn shop in Covent Garden?" asked Ike quietly. "The very shop where some of the jewels were offered for sale? What about that, Mrs Westward? What would you call that?"

Another slow exhalation, and Victoria gave a wide, catlike smile. "I'd call that irony, Sergeant, what would you call it?"

* * *

_A_ll the officers were gathered in the incident room when Julian Westward was released. The room was at the end of the hall and all faces were pressed to the door, watching as he collected his belongings from the desk clerk and headed out the door. When he had rounded the corner and was out of sight, they all turned back, dejected, sighs emitting.

"Oh come on now," Emma said, trying to be cheerful. "It's not the end of the world. We can still get him."

"I'm beginning to wonder," Noah said with another sigh. He flopped down into his chair and rested his head on the desk. "This is starting to feel like a futile one, boss."

Her eyes flashed quick anger. "Am I hearing right? Are we giving up?"

"Not exactly, Guv..." Lou assured her.

"'Not exactly'? What the hell kind of talk is that?" demanded Emma. "I don't believe I'm hearing this!"

"Boss, do you blame us?" protested Buck. "Everyone got excited when Rachel Dunne gave her statement and things seemed to come together, but I think what we've got is a whole lot of nothing!"

"Nothing?" Emma blazed. "Nothing? Did I hear you right, Sgt Cross? Let's see- we've got the testimony of an ex-wife who was around when the first set of crimes was going on. We've got a former employer willing to testify that not only were Westward and his wife involved in criminal activities during their tenure with him, but also that _he_ suspects them for the _recent_ crimes as well! We've got the pawnshop where the jewels were allegedly offered for sale, and not only that, but we've got the fact that Westward's wife is the _owner_ of that _same_ shop! Not to mention we've got a motive for Westward; not to _mention_ we've proven that Westward's alibis for two of the parties are completely _false_!" She stopped, her chest heaving. "Do you still call that a whole lot of nothing? _Do_ you?"

The officers were silent. They hung their heads sheepishly, afraid to meet Emma's eyes.

Then Emma sighed. "Listen to me," she said. "It's been a tough couple of weeks, I know that. I've been here right along with you, every step of the way. But come on...you _knew_ this was going to be a tough one. As stupid as some of Westward's mistakes have been, he's pretty clever. He hasn't given us any evidence and he hasn't left any witnesses. But we can still nail him! I _know_ we can! The man is going to slip. And when he does, we'll be there to catch him!" She looked each officer squarely in the eye. "So this isn't an easy job! So what else is new? When has it ever been easy? You knew that without _me_ having to tell you. We're not an hour-long series on the telly; nothing's going to be wrapped up in a neat little package at the end of the day. It kills me that we have to let Westward go, but we can't keep him here. We didn't get him this time-we'll get him next time around. Okay? I _need_ you people to have faith. Have faith and work with me, will you?" Her voice broke slightly, straining. "_Please_," she said finally. With one last, pleading look, she spun around and pushed her way through the incident room doors.

They all watched her go. No one even commented when Sam Cain followed her. After several moments of quiet, Ike said, "I've never seen her quite like that before."

"No," agreed Nan, running tired hands over her face. "But we've never had quite this attitude before. Usually we've got something _substantial_ to go on, and it gives us all hope. Right now it feels like we're just spinning our wheels."

"Poor Emma," Louise said gently. "I wish she hadn't had to give us that speech. It made me feel like a real schmuck."

Kid laughed a soft laugh and ran a hand up and down her spine, comforting. "Don't be too hard on yourself; we're all to blame."

"It's just..." Cody stopped, frustrated, and pounded the wall. "It's just that it felt like we had something to go on! It felt good-_damn_ good. And now, it's like someone pulled the rug out from under us."

Langley nodded agreement. "And that 'someone' was that bastard Westward."

"Guv's right: he's made some stupid mistakes, but all in all he's pretty clever," Emerson said.

"We've just go to be cleverer then, haven't we?" commented Albarn. He sounded as if he were confident that this would not be a problem.

Noah grinned at the young man's cheeky assurance. "Easier said than done, my lad."

"There's a way," Jimmy said. "There's _got_ to be a way."

Langley was rifling through a pile of papers. "Now that Westward's been burgled there's only three more partners to go: Graham Tate, Vivian Cullom, and Richard Yancey."

"We'll need round-the-clock surveillance," Kid said. "And we'll have to advise them not to throw any parties." The dry humour caused a weary chuckle to go round the room. "Right, folks, it's two o'clock in the effing morning-what say we all head home for some shut-eye? I'm beyond knackered. We'll meet up back here around noon."

Groans rose up from the officers. "Noon?" Some of them protested.

Kid just laughed. "Consider yourselves lucky I didn't say ten."

As they filed slowly out, bodies moving in exhausted freedom, Kid watched them go. Louise was at his side, Jimmy and Nan in another corner of the room. "God, what a night," Lou breathed, rubbing her neck. "I bet I could fall asleep standing up."

"Let's get you out of here then." Kid took her by the elbow and began steering her from the room. "I'll get us a cab. Night, Nan. Night, Jimmy."

And then only Nan and Jimmy were left. The room held an unearthly silence compared to the noise and bustle of only moments before.

"They're nice together," said Nan thoughtfully. She was still feeling Jimmy's slender fingers laced with her own.

"Very," he agreed. "Think we'll ever be that nice together?" He dared a look in her direction. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, but they brightened at his words.

"Judging from the past couple of weeks, somehow I doubt it."

He caught the teasing in her voice. "We'll probably never be _quite_ that nice."

Nan shook her head. "No."

"We'll always be at each other's throats, right? Bickering, snipping at each other, trying to get each other riled up."

"Yeah, I think we'd be a lot like that," she acknowledged carefully.

"We're a lot like that already. The only thing we're not is the most important part."

She raised an eyebrow. "The most important part?"

"Yeah. You know, the 'us' part."

Nan smiled. "It's only been a few weeks, Jimmy."

"A few weeks can be a lifetime sometimes, don't you think?"

"What do you want me to say?" But she asked it playfully, still smiling.

"I want you to say-"

"Yes?"

He leaned in closer. Her lips were inches away from his, still full and pink and invitingly soft. She smelled sweet and slightly musty from her hours in the station. She was lovely and he was insane for her. "I want you to say..." his voice lowered, "'James Hickok, I can no longer pretend that this incredible attraction I feel for you is anything other than what it is. I can no longer fight this overwhelming need I have for you. I can no longer pretend that I'd rather argue with you than kiss you. And I'm going to stop reminding you that we've only known each other a few weeks.' That's what I want you to say."

Nan burst into laughter. "You want me to say _all_ of that? You're off your head!"

But then his lips met hers and he was kissing her. His kiss was gentle and tender and delicious, and it left no room in her head for any words at all.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_When I've shown you that I just don't care_

_When I'm throwing punches in the air_

_When I'm broken down and I can't stand_

_Will you be strong enough to be my man?_

"Strong Enough" - Sheryl Crow

* * *

_W_hen the phone rang at eight that morning, it woke Jimmy before it woke Nan. He bolted upright from his pillow and looked through bleary eyes in the direction of the phone. Swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa, he rose and stumbled around the room, searching for the instrument causing the obnoxious sound.

He found the phone quickly and jerked the receiver out of the cradle. "H'lo?" he mumbled thickly, sinking back down onto the cushions. Silence. "H'lo?" He waited again, but there was still no response. Frustrated, Jimmy made to hang up, but then heard the sound of a young voice.

"Who is this?"

Miffed, Jimmy retorted, "Who's _this_?"

"Paul."

"Ohhh," Jimmy relaxed. "Hey, Paul. We met the other day. This is Jimmy. Jimmy Hickok."

Paul seemed relieved. "Oh, yeah, I remember you. The yank. What are you doing at Nan's place? I thought I'd dialled a wrong number." His young voice was completely without guile; he was merely curious.

For some reason Jimmy found himself blushing. Knowing he had no reason to, he cursed himself. "We had a late night at the station and Nan let me crash here."

"Oh." Paul easily accepted the explanation. "Is she awake?"

"Hold on, let me check." Setting the phone down, Jimmy walked into the hallway and down to Nan's room. The door was ajar and he poked his head in, his eyes adjusting to the faint light. Nan was laying on her stomach, the covers drawn up to her shoulders, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the other wedged under the headboard. Her bare feet stuck out in contrast to her otherwise completely covered body. Soft breathing sounds emitted from her general direction. Jimmy grinned to himself and padded back into the living room, picking up the phone. "No, she's sound asleep."

"Well, don't wake her. I just wanted to call to thank her for the concert tickets she got. I meant to call her after the concert, but I forgot."

"I'll pass along the message."

"Tell her I wish she could have come with me." Paul sounded wistful.

"It's been pretty hectic for us, Paul. I'm sure she wishes she could have come, but you know how it is." For some reason Jimmy felt the urge to reassure the kid, he sounded so genuinely disappointed.

"Yeah, I know how it is," the boy replied somewhat gruffly. "She's always having to cancel stuff."

Helplessly, Jimmy sat in silence, unable to respond.

"Anyway, just tell her I said thanks."

"I will."

"Thanks. Bye."

"Bye." Sighing, Jimmy hung up and managed to settle back down into the sofa, drawing the covers around him, warming under their heavy thickness as he thought back to Paul's dejected tone.

He closed his eyes only to be woken a few minutes later by the phone ringing once more. It rang three times before the sound penetrated his foggy, sleep-clouded brain. He reached for it again. "H'lo?"

"Is this Lieutenant Hickok?" This voice was formal and strangely familiar.

"Speaking."

"This is Will Kenworthy."

Nan's grandfather. Jimmy's eyes widened in surprise. "Good morning, sir."

"Yes, good morning. Paul told me that you spent last evening at my granddaughter's flat. Is that true?"

"Yes," Jimmy answered, puzzled.

"May I ask what your intentions are toward my granddaughter, Mr Hickok?"

Jimmy stifled a groan. Oh God, not this. It was too early to deal with this. "Sir, I assure you my intentions are nothing to be suspicious of. I'm very fond of Nan. I respect her a great deal." He found he had lapsed into a speech straight out of a 1950s television show. He hastened to add, "We had a very late night last night, sir, and Nan offered to let me sleep on her couch. That's all, nothing more."

A brief pause as Will tried to determine Jimmy's sincerity. Then he said, "Is that all?"

If he hadn't known better, Jimmy would have sworn the man sounded disappointed. "Yes sir, that's all." It wasn't all, but he had no intention of blurting out his romantic aspirations toward this man's granddaughter.

"Oh..." Will's voice trailed off.

"Is something wrong, Mr Kenworthy?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong. It's just...well, you see...you two seemed so nice together."

"Nice?" repeated Jimmy. He remembered that he and Nan had bickered mercilessly in front of Will.

"Yes, you know-comfortable with each other. Granted, you were fighting like cats and dogs, but there was a certain-I don't know, sweetness to it."

"Sweetness?" Obviously rendered incapable of producing an original sentence, he had been reduced to echoing Will's statements.

"I know you'll think I'm a meddling old man, Lieutenant, but I liked the look of you with Nan. She's always been such an ambitious girl, and even when she dated that Pete Binchy fellow, he never really understood her. He never really kept her on her toes. He just _worshipped_ her, which is all very well, but it's not what Nan needs. She needs-oh, never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, wait," Jimmy protested. "What were you going to say? What does Nan need?"

"I don't intend to meddle in my granddaughter's private life."

Jimmy cracked a grin. Will sounded very inclined to meddle. "What does Nan need, Mr Kenworthy?"

"She..." Will faltered. Then he became loving and indulgent, slow and thoughtful. "She needs someone to love her, but to know her faults and call her on them. When she's acting tough and invulnerable and denying that she needs any help, she needs someone who will see through that, and realise that she's practically begging to be reassured. She needs laughter, Lieutenant, and trust, and acceptance and love. She needs someone to make her realise she's only human; someone to cut through her sarcasm. And she needs strength and compassion and the occasional row to bring her down a peg or two. Do you see what I'm saying, Lieutenant? She's a fascinating, capable woman, my granddaughter, and the man she needs must be equally special, or else he'll never deserve her; and what's more, he'll never understand her. Do you see, Lieutenant?"

It took a moment for Jimmy's reply. His eyes had been staring faraway, unfocused, listening to the passionate cadence of Will's words. This man loved his granddaughter, that much was clear. His speech was proof enough of that. And if he was trying to send Jimmy a message, it had been received loud and clear. "Yes, sir, I do see."

"I'm sorry." Will sounded light-hearted now and laughed at himself. "I didn't mean to get so worked up about it. I'm just tired of seeing her alone. She deserves to be happy. She's too hard on herself, Lieutenant."

"Yes, she is."

"Good. Well, don't tell her I rang, will you? She'll just be miffed that I did."

"She loves you, sir, she just gets a bit-well, you know how she gets."

Chuckling, Will agreed. "Yes, I know exactly how she gets. Well, you have a good day, Lieutenant."

"You too, sir."

Jimmy couldn't sleep after that phone call. He lay on the sofa, wishing that he were a smoker. It seemed that a cigarette would be helpful right about now, if only to give him something else to occupy his thoughts. Will's speech had only reconfirmed what he had already discovered about Nan: that she was complex and too independent and overbearing and sarcastic and not altogether loveable. At least, on the surface. But that surface was only a veneer; it was thin, easily scratched away, and underneath there was an amazing woman-a tender, sweet, sexy, amazing woman. A woman who had captivated him entirely.

He grinned to himself, thinking of their sparring, the incessant childish bickering that occurred whenever the two of them were together. She kept him on his toes, that was for damn sure. The only real question now was how to make her see what he felt for her and to admit that she felt something, too. He still winced to think of that morning in the hotel room, that moment when she had looked into his eyes and told him it had all been a mistake.

Looking up, he saw Nan stumbling from the hall into the living room. Her hair was sticking up and she was yawning. "Mmm..." she sighed. "Morning, Jimmy."

Jimmy grinned. "Morning, sunshine."

"Ugh." She ran her hand through a nasty tangle in her hair. "I don't feel like sunshine today. How many times did that stupid bloody phone ring?"

"Only twice."

"Who was it?"

"Paul, who said thank you for the concert tickets. And your granddad, who was just...um, just checking in." Jimmy brushed his thumb across her cheek, smiling at her sleepiness.

"Mmm, that's nice," she mumbled. Closing her eyes, she yawned again and buried her nose in the warm spot between Jimmy's neck and shoulder.

For a few minutes there was silence. He stroked the disarrayed masses of her hair and sniffed at her clean-smelling skin, feeling her soft breathing against his throat, and wondering if he could ever live up to the picture of the man that Will had painted.

* * *

_B_y noon every officer had managed to drag him- or herself through the doors of the incident room. The moment the clock struck twelve, Sam called everyone to order and began giving out the directions that he and Emma had decided upon: Buck, Ike, and Iain were sent back to Westward's to question the forensic specialists who had been going over the house since the night before. Albarn, O'Hara, Emerson, Binchy, Noah, and Cody were sent in pairs of two to the homes of Graham Tate, Vivian Cullom, and Richard Yancey. Kid and Jimmy were assigned to accompany Emma back to Covent Garden with a search order for Nigel Atherton's pawnshop premises. Louise and Nan were ordered to remain at the nick with Sam.

"Please tell me you're not _protecting_ us," Louise said witheringly after everyone had gone. She threw Sam a reproving look.

"Yes, McCloud, we thought you and Kenworthy could stay in and knit while everyone else chases down the big, bad man."

"Funny."

"It so happens," Sam answered haughtily, "that I _requested_ your illustrious presence, Lieutenant McCloud."

Trying not to look pleased too quickly, Lou frowned. "Why?"

"Because Nan's the best researcher we've got; and when I asked Hickok, he said you were the best _they_ had. That's why."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Sam," Nan said, grinning.

"I'm hoping it'll get me pretty far, actually."

"Why, Chief Inspector Cain!" Nan feigned shock, fluttering her lashes at him.

Lou pretended to wave a fan in front of her face. She rolled her big, brown eyes heavenward. "Just what are you implying, Chief Inspector?" she added.

"Very funny, ladies. Can I just get some work out of you, please?"

"What sort of work did you have in mind?" continued Nan with another flutter of her lids.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. Just get to work, would you guys?"

"Now we're _guys_?" squealed Louise.

"Keep it up, McCloud, and I'll choke you by your sweet little neck."

"I wouldn't take that from him if I were you, Lou," Nan offered, mock-serious. "That's grounds for sexual harassment right there."

Walking off in the direction of his office, Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Women! It's not worth the grief! Tomorrow I'm asking for the boys!" His words began to fade as he walked down the hall.

"That's further sexual harassment, Chief Inspector!" Nan called after him. "Creating a hostile work environment!" She and Lou collapsed into giggles.

Louise shook her head when their laughter had died away. "I guess we're supposed to be doing something productive now, aren't we?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Too bad. I'll take these party statements and you take the sheet of Westward's phone calls. Unless you want to do it the other way around..."

"No, that's fine with me." Nan picked up the printout and began poring over it. A police order had resulted in British Telecom producing the list detailing all calls from Westward's home and office during the month of September. The file was enormous. "You know, I may be the best, but I really _hate_ research."

"It's not exactly what I envisioned when I wanted to become a police officer," Lou agreed. "I'll get that," she offered as the phone next to her pierced the silence with its ringing. "Incident Room. McCloud...Sure, hang on a minute. Nan, it's for you."

"Granddad if this is you..." Nan began with a laugh. Louise watched as the colour drained from Nan's bright face. The strangest, most disturbing expression crossed over her features. One slender hand reached out to grip the edge of the desk she sat behind.

"Who-who is this?" Her voice came out shaky, tremulous.

Quickly Lou set down the statements and was at Nan's side. She grasped her by the shoulder. "Who is it, Nan? What's wrong?"

But Nan was in a trance, her eyes staring unblinking into the space before her. Her lower lip began to tremble. "Why...who are you...why are you doing this?"

Lou crouched down till they were eye-level. Her own heart had begun to seize with fear at the tone of Nan's voice, the indefinable look in her eyes. "Nan, what is it?"

"I don't have to...I don't have to _listen_ to this."

Without waiting a moment longer, Louise snatched the phone from Nan's hand, prying it free from the fingers that curled tightly around the receiver. "Who is this?" she demanded harshly. But the line went dead. Slamming it back into the cradle, she turned again to Nan. "Nan, what the hell was that all about?"

At last Nan looked at her, through eyes still widened in shock. Choking, she clutched Louise's hand in hers. "He...he," she stopped, tried to slow down her rapid heart rate. "He threatened my grandfather, Lou. He threatened Paulie!"

"Who, Nan? _Who_ threatened them?" The words came out a whisper.

"I don't know..." Nan looked up, frightened. "Oh, Lou, I don't know..."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Tonight you're mine completely_

_You give your love so sweetly_

_Tonight the light of love is in your eyes_

_But will you love me tomorrow?_

"Will You Love Me Tomorrow" – Bryan Ferry

* * *

_I_n the week that followed, Nan received dozens more phone calls; they came to her house and they came to the nick. They came early in the morning, they came late at night, and each was more disturbing than the last. Every call was recorded and monitored by the officers, but every call was traced to a different, unregistered mobile number. By the seventh day, when the calls had escalated to such a level that Nan literally trembled in fear at the sound of a ringing phone, Jimmy was out for blood.

It didn't help that the case itself had reached a sudden standstill. Despite subtly-planned police protection, it seemed that Westward was on to them. The homes of Graham Tate, Richard Yancey, and Vivian Cullom were untouched. Christopher Astley, Westward's alibi for the night of the Truman party, remained unreachable, and the search through Nigel Atherton's pawnbroker's had revealed nothing.

Will and Paul, as well as Uncle Jamie, were reluctantly put under police protection. None of the threats ever came directly to them, but the caller always gave detailed descriptions of their whereabouts and daily comings and goings, so Emma decided early on it was better to be safe than sorry. Paul, who had always been eager to be involved in any way in Nan's police work, now found himself in the centre of things. Frightened as he was, there was a secret part of him that was thrilled by the danger of it all.

Jimmy and Kid stayed with Nan at her flat every night, and it was a testament to her frazzled state of mind that she never once protested. Instead, as the hours of a long and fruitless day drew to yet another close, she would look to each man as if for reassurance that they were still willing to sacrifice their evenings to stay with her. Louise stopped by, too, and Emma called periodically, as did Teaspoon and Sam.

That following Sunday evening Louise arrived at Nan's flat around seven. Kid let her in. Jimmy and Nan were sitting on the sofa, staring at the recording device that had been hooked up to the phone for days now.

"What?" Louise gazed in them in alarm. "Another one?"

Sighing, Kid nodded.

"Oh, God." Louise knew she shouldn't have been so surprised-the calls were growing in frequency, each more alarming than the last. But the panic-stricken look on Nan's face never failed to disturb her. "What this time?"

Nan stood abruptly. "You can listen..." she said, voice trailing off. "I can't...I can't hear any more of that." She turned into the hallway and a minute later her bedroom door shut.

"Are you sure you want to hear this, Lou?" asked Jimmy, rubbing his furrowed brow.

"It can't be any worse than the ones I've heard so far." Louise stopped, catching their looks. "Can it?"

In answer, Kid reached over and quickly sped the tape back into place. After a moment it was ready and then it began to play. Louise heard first Nan, then the now-familiar hissing voice of the caller.

_'Hello?'_

_'Inspector Kenworthy?'_

_'You again.' _Nan's voice was trying desperately for bravado and failing.

_'Are you alone, Inspector?'_

_'I think you know perfectly well that I'm not.'_

_'No, of course not. You're there with your fellow officers, aren't you? Recording this call in the vain hopes of locating me.'_

_'We _will_locate you.' _Nan's voice was stronger this time.

_'Oh, I don't know about that. Don't you find it funny, Inspector, that I know exactly where you are-at this very moment-and you haven't the foggiest notion where I am? Or even _who_I am? Don't you find that the least bit funny?'_

_'The only thing I find funny,'_ her voice was even stronger, '_is how close we are to catching you.'_

Hard, unforgiving laughter. _'Oh, that _is_funny, Inspector! That's very, very funny.'_

_'Why are you doing this?'_

_'You always ask me that. Haven't I made that perfectly clear to you?'_

As she listened, Louise removed her jacket and perched on the edge of the low table as the machine whirred and Nan's recorded voice filtered once more into the room.

_'All that you've made clear to me is that you're intent on hurting me and those I love. I'm not going to let you get away with it.'_

_'A touching little speech, Inspector. Bravo. I wonder if your kindly grandfather will make the same sort of speech when he and I have a chat.'_

Suddenly Nan's voice scaled into near-hysteria. _'__You stay away from him! You stay away from my grandfather!'_

_'Your little cousin Paul, on the other hand, might not be nearly as strong of character.'_

_'You stay away from Paulie! He's only a _boy_!'_

_'Now, now. We don't want to get ourselves worked into a state over this, do we, Inspector? My demands are simple, they always have been: stay away from Julian Westward. Back away, Inspector, and your precious family will not be touched. I give you my word.'_

_'What does your word mean to me?'_

_'It should mean a great deal, Inspector. I am a man of my word.'_

_'You leave my family alone.'_

_'I really must go.'_

And then the line went dead. The buzzing dial tone was suddenly cut off as the tape ended. Lou stared at the machine breathlessly. Jimmy was typing away at the desktop computer that was hooked up to the LMPF mainframe. The keys clicked for several minutes before he finally stopped and sighed again.

"Same?" Kid asked.

Jimmy nodded. "Unregistered mobile number. Paid for with cash."

"Where was the call coming from this time?"

"Brighton." Jimmy was checking the map on the screen that had been pinpointed with the locations of each call: York, Birmingham, London, Hertfordshire, Southampton, never the same place twice. Frustrated, Jimmy cursed under his breath and slammed the computer shut. "Dammit," he muttered, flopping back against the couch and throwing his arm over his eyes.

"I don't get it," Kid said, echoing what every officer had said at least once since the whole thing had begun. "Why is he going after Nan? Why not Guv? Guv's got much more clout in the force. She's our _boss_, for God's sake! Not that I wish Emma any harm," he amended quickly. "It would just make more _sense_, that's all."

"I've had an uneasy feeling about him since the beginning," mused Jimmy, as if to himself. "The first time we met him, he called Nan 'Anna.' She hadn't introduced herself by her first name, but he knew it. And the way he looked at her...the way he held her hand..."

"But is it Westward calling her?" Louise asked thoughtfully. "Those letters she got, the ones about her beauty and her reputation and all that...this guy, whoever he is, hasn't ever said anything like that on the phone to her."

Kid nodded, eagerly grasping her train of thought. "You're right, he hasn't. Do you think it's one of Westward's toadies, maybe? Someone doing his dirty work?"

"It would make sense to me," acknowledged Lou.

Jimmy was watching them, perplexed, processing his own thoughts. Suddenly he said, "She's really shaken up by all this."

"Who can blame her?" asked Louise.

"No, I mean _really_ shaken up by this. It's like she works so hard to be so tough and independent, and she builds up all these walls around herself, protects herself so well...and then someone comes along and like that," Jimmy snapped his fingers, "he's left her with no defences. He's attacking her family-the one thing she can't protect." He paused. "I'm going to see if she's okay."

As he rose from the sofa, Lou and Kid watched him go, knowing Jimmy hadn't even realised the irony of his own speech. They heard him knock softly on Nan's door, and then his quiet, "Nan? Can I come in?"

He waited, hardly daring to hope Nan would allow him into her inner sanctum. For the past week he and Kid had taken turns sleeping on the couch and the floor; she had never even allowed him to set foot past her bedroom door. But then the door opened and Nan's face was in front of his.

"Can I come in?" he whispered again.

"Yes." She opened the door wider and then closed it behind him. She was standing in her slacks and blouse. Her eyes were downcast. Without thinking, Jimmy reached out a hand and brushed it along her face, cradling her chin with his palm.

"You need anything?" was his gentle question.

"I'm fine."

"You always say that. You always say you're fine even when it's perfectly damn clear that you're _not_."

Her crooked grin flashed briefly. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

"Not especially. Come on, just tell me what you need."

"Nothing, Jimmy, really. Thank you, but I'm okay."

"There's got to be _something_. Just tell me. Whatever you need."

She started, hesitated, and then stopped. She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"You were going to say something. Just tell me, sweetheart." Jimmy was holding his breath, looking into those dark blue eyes, hoping against hope that she would trust him enough to tell him what she needed at a time like this.

For the hundredth time Nan had to remind herself that Jimmy Hickok wasn't the type of man to back down easily. She smiled to herself, remembering the battles they had engaged in, the silly things they had fought over, neither of them ever truly relenting. Except for that one night, the exception to the rule. Looking up at him, at that broad, handsome face, Nan wondered why she never allowed herself to relent. What was wrong with giving in once in a while? What was so bad about letting go?

"I...I'd like a hug."

The request startled Jimmy with its very simplicity. "A hug?" he repeated.

"Oh, it's silly..." She turned away and sat on her bed, staring at her feet.

"No, no...I guess I'm just _surprised_." He knelt before her, taking her clasped hands in his.

"Surprised?"

"Yeah, surprised." Jimmy tilted his head to one side, engaging her in another smile. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to hold you this past week. I was just afraid to."

"I can be pretty hard to deal with, can't I?"

He pretended to think about it. "Uh...you could say that, yes."

They laughed.

Freeing one of her hands from his grasp, Nan threaded her fingers through his clean, straight brown hair. "Stay with me tonight, Jimmy," she whispered.

His laughter died away, smile fading. She was serious, he could see it in her eyes. She needed him. It gave him a tremendous sense of pleasure, and more than that, there was something else. If he looked closely at it, it felt remarkably like happiness.

* * *

_T_he video arrived the next day around noon. There had been no phone calls up till then, and while it was a small thing, it was reason enough for everyone to rejoice, if only a little. There were still searches to be undertaken, still interviews to be done, still neighbours being called in for questioning, but, as it had been so aptly put, the officers were spinning their wheels. It was busy work, work to keep minds occupied. And it wasn't fooling anyone.

Ironically, it was Nan who signed for the package. It was medium-sized and addressed to Emma Shannon, completely innocuous.

It was several moments before Nan realised that the handwriting was familiar. As she lay the object down on her desk in anticipation of Emma's arrival, the bold black writing caught her eye, and for the hundredth time in as many weeks, her heart stopped for a moment. Her mouth opened, but words wouldn't come. Ike was nearest to her and noticed her first as she stood, paralysed and speechless, the package in her hands.

"Nan?"

The familiar voice started her back to reality. She threw Ike a helpless look and thrust the envelope at him. "It's...it's the same handwriting, Ike..."

"Same handwriting?" He took the package from her and inspected it. "What are you talking about?"

"_Him_." Nan pronounced the one word with awed desperation.

"Oh, God-him?" Suddenly Ike realised who she meant. "Someone get Emma in here _now_!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Emerson heard the command and looked to his senior officer for reassurance. "Want me to go, Sarge?"

"Yes!" barked Ike. "Now!"

Emerson took off in a flash and returned with Emma after a few brief minutes. Emma's pumps pounded hard against the linoleum floor. "Jesus, Ike, what's going on?"

"This was brought in today-Nan signed for it. She says it's the same handwriting as...well, you know."

Emma jerked a pair of rubber gloves from a nearby box and began to tear the package open unceremoniously, heeding no one's protests for her own safety. She was cursing feverishly. "Bastard...that effing bastard...we'll show him. I swear to God we'll show that bastard..." It was a videocassette. In Alice-fashion, there was a note taped to it instructing '_Play me._'

Emma glared at it. Nan was still frozen in place. . What the hell was on that tape? The thoughts flew so fast around her head that it made her dizzy. She leaned against the desk for support. Jimmy was staring at her, confounded.

Someone slipped the video into the VCR. There was a smattering of fuzz on the screen, and then, to her horror, as the roar of her heartbeat filled her ears and the room began to spin around her, Nan saw herself in her bedroom last night. The picture was clear and Nan knew, with an immediate, sinking realisation, that the camera had been there with her-there, in her room, watching her every move. She watched as she let Jimmy into the room. She watched Jimmy touch her face. She heard them talk and laugh, but the words weren't clear, they were blurred with the white noise in her head. She saw Jimmy kneel before her, a surreal déjá vú, and then she watched them kiss and talk some more and then kiss again. And then someone shut the video off-just before Jimmy pulled her into his arms and their kissing grew more urgent, more passionate-like a parent censoring an inappropriate film. When the video had been shut off, everyone stared at Nan in embarrassed silence. Someone coughed nervously.

Instantly Nan grew defensive. "What? Is there something you want me to say?"

"Now, Nan, don't..." Emma moved to comfort the young officer.

But Nan shrugged her off. "Don't, Guv," she ordered harshly. "Well?" she demanded of her co-workers. "Don't any of you have anything to say? Shouldn't the rumours start right about now? The AMIT tart's at it again! What fun-you don't even have to go through the bother of making one up! You've got proof right here!" No reply. "Isn't technology wonderful? Saves us all the trouble of speculation, doesn't it?"

Noah stepped forward, worried at the frenzied tone in her voice. "Nan, it isn't like that..."

"Isn't it?" she demanded.

"No," O'Hara answered, firm. "We're worried about you, Nan, that's all. We're angry for you."

"You don't know what this is _like_," she said, voice cracking. "None of you-you don't understand! He's _watching_ me! He's watching my _family_! I don't even know who he _is_! I don't even know _why_!"

"Nan, don't..." Pete begged helplessly.

"Stay away from me, Pete!" She whirled round, feeling Jimmy advancing toward her. "You too, Jimmy! You stay away from me. Both of you-all of you." Breaking further, she stared at them all. "Don't you see? No one can _help_ me."

Ike, who was still nearest, grabbed her by the elbows, shaking her, looking into her eyes. "That's not true, Nan, and you know it! We _can_ help you. We're going to find this bastard. We promise you that."

She seemed to have calmed. There was a semblance of the Nan they remembered, the Nan they knew was still in there somewhere. "And what if we don't, Ike? What if we don't? What then?"

No one answered. They wouldn't allow themselves the thought.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

_I'm a stone inside a box,_

_I'm a spring inside a clock,_

_You can wear me on your wrist_

_and I'll tell you things ten thousand times,_

_but do you ever get me?_

"Get Me" - Everything But the Girl

* * *

_J_immy found Nan in the break room a short while later. She sat at one of the tables, crushing an empty juice tin between her palms, staring at it intently. She didn't even look up when he came in.

"Nan."

"Did they send you to talk some sense into me?" she asked, still focusing on the object in her hands. Her voice was almost a monotone.

"No. I sent myself."

Then she looked up. "I'm sorry. I just panicked, I suppose."

"Hey," he said easily, slipping into a chair near her, "you don't have to tell me. When I saw us on that tape, I thought I was going to be sick."

"Were you embarrassed?" Nan's hand crept toward his.

He picked it up and held it in his, stroking her tense knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "Only because it was a private moment," he said. "Only because it was supposed to be between you and me, not the entire Ladbroke Grove police station." He smiled softly. "That's all."

"But not because...not because of what we _did_...right?"

Jimmy gazed at her in amazement. Surely she knew-she _had_ to know-how he felt; that he was crazy for her, about her, around her. That this limbo they had been living in was about to do him in, that last night had given him a hope he hardly dared to let himself feel. "No," he said simply, further words escaping him.

She smiled then, relieved.

"How are you holding up, Nan? I mean _really_?"

"How well do I seem to be holding up?"

"Not all that well, really."

"That's a lot better than I feel. I feel like I'm ready for the little men in white coats."

Jimmy grinned and lifted her hand to his lips, grazing a kiss across her knuckles. "You'll make it through this. You're strong."

Nan laughed bitterly. "I _thought_ I was." She pulled her hand away to run it over her face. "Now I'm not so sure. I've had to re-evaluate lately."

"Let us help. Let _me_ help."

"I'm fine. I told you that."

For several minutes he just looked at her. Then he shook his head. "Let me tell you a little story," he began, scooting his chair closer to hers, the metal scraping harshly against the linoleum floor. One long finger began tracing invisible patterns on the tabletop. "When I joined the police force, I thought pretty highly of myself. I was arrogant, I was cocky; I took every opportunity to pull a gun out and prove I was a real man. I thought everything was an attack on my pride. I never asked for anyone's help, never admitted when I needed it, never admitted I needed anything. I thought I could handle everything on my own, and it nearly killed me when I couldn't."

"Jimmy, what does this have to do with-"

"Just let me finish. You didn't know me then, Nan, but trust me when I say you're a lot like I was. Don't you get it? You push everyone away, you hold them at arm's length, you never ask for help even if it's obvious you need it! There are people who care about you and they want to help. But still you push, still you refuse to admit you need anyone or anything. Right now there are a lot of people who are anxious to help you in any way they can, but if you keep up this Superwoman, I-can-handle-anything attitude, you're going to alienate people. And maybe not today, maybe not a year from now, but eventually...eventually everyone's going to get tired of trying. And then where will you be?" He paused, waiting. When she didn't respond, he said, "You'll be alone, that's where you'll be. And _no_ one can handle everything alone. _No_ one.

"I've seen you, Nan-with your grandfather, your cousin, Kid, Emma...I've seen you. You push them away. You won't let them help you. You act like you can handle everything. I don't know anyone who can handle everything. What makes you so special?"

"Jimmy."

"I'm just telling you what someone told me a long time ago."

Nan grinned wryly. "Well, I don't know Teaspoon very well yet, but you sound just like him right now."

"Do I?" Jimmy smiled in pleasure. "Guess a few years working with the old guy kinda rubs off."

"I guess so." Her eyes twinkled. "Message received, Lieutenant. Loud and clear."

"Are you getting saucy with me, young lady?"

"Whatever would give you that impression?" She sobered. "But Jimmy, you do realise that a habit of a lifetime isn't going to change overnight, don't you? I can't just suddenly _stop_ overprotecting myself."

"I know. Hell, you're talking to the champ here."

"The hardest part of being a police officer was learning to trust my fellow officers," Nan said slowly, remembering those first, strenuous years on the force. "I was so used to relying only on myself...learning to rely on other people was really hard."

"Why was it hard? What caused you to close yourself off this way?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. My parents died, but I've always had family around me. They've always been loving and supportive. I don't know. I think it was just the way I was made."

Jimmy gently swept her hair out of her face. "Maybe it's time to unmake things., what do you think?"

At first caught up in his gaze locked with hers, Nan suddenly relaxed and broke into a wide, amused smile. "I think we sound like a self-help seminar, that's what I think."

"You're incorrigible, Inspector, did you know that?"

"I have been told that a time or two."

"Just learn to let go. Just once in a while. Okay?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Message received."

"Speaking of message received," he replied, glancing down at the beeper hooked to his belt loop. The familiar signal was beckoning from its tiny speaker like a coded message from a home planet. Nan's pager was echoing the sound.

"Jesus, what this time?" Nan peered at the message: REPORT IMMEDIATELY. GRAHAM TATE ROBBED.

Jimmy was already on his feet, heading out the door and back to the incident room. He paused at the doorway to the break room. "You coming?"

"In a minute." She was pounding the pager against her fist. "Dammit. Stupid bloody thing won't shut off."

"See you."

"Yes, okay. See you in a bit."

Jimmy smiled at her, affection surging through him. Nan looked up then, feeling the warmth of his smile from across the room. Her eyes lit up and she smiled back, a wide, happy, familiar smile. The harsh neon light of the room had turned her normally pale complexion an unearthly blue, but she was still beautiful. Jimmy hugged that image of her to himself.

He would remember it for a long, long time.

* * *

_P_C Brierly was doing her best to calm the hysterical Mrs Tate as the older woman stood in her silk dressing gown and curlers, wringing her manicured hands. Every question Philippa asked was met with a wail and a few more tears. Philippa was ready to give up in exasperation when Cody materialised at her side, with that triangular grin that made her toes curl in her regulation black walking shoes.

"Let me handle this, Constable," he drawled easily, nodding his head. Philippa had no trouble imagining Cody in a ten-gallon hat, tipping the brim elegantly toward her. Normally not the damsel-in-distress type, Philippa just grinned at him and stepped aside, ready to watch him in action.

Across the room there was a flurry of forensic specialists and frustrated police officers. Jimmy, Kid, and Buck were in the middle of the crowd. Graham Tate's servants were being questioned by Louise, Ike, and Noah; Teaspoon was kneeling by the emptied safety chest, peering closely at the metal hinges with a magnifying glass.

Watching the goings-on with a narrow gaze and a tight-lipped expression, Emma stood tapping her foot, arms crossed, fuming. This whole thing was just getting worse and worse. At this rate Superintendent Alcott was going to have her pulled off the case. As Teaspoon had said only that morning, they were getting nowhere, and they were getting there at top speed.

Louise was interviewing the last of the Tates' help-a tall, stocky young manservant looking very uncomfortable in his starched suit and tie. He answered the questions meekly and when it was over, he shot from the room breathing a sigh of relief, and Lou turned to toss Emma a helpless glance. Her eyes answered the unspoken question: _No. He doesn't know anything_.

There was a chair nearby and Emma slipped quickly into it, her head hanging down. She closed her eyes, groaning to herself. That bastard Westward was getting away with this. When his reign of terror was ended he would walk off, scot-free, probably to the Bahamas or Cuba, or wherever the hell it was that criminals retired these days.

Sam crouched down next to her. Not caring who saw, he put his hand on her knee and squeezed it reassuringly. "Take it easy," he said. "Just breathe deep. We're getting there."

Lifting her head, Emma gazed at him hopefully. "Are we?"

There was a triumphant grin on his face. "Forensic just found a piece of cloth hanging from the edge of the safety chest."

She was doubtful, trying not to get her hopes up. "Could be a misdirection..."

"No, that's the best part. It's identical to the cloth we found at the Claussens', which is before we even began to suspect Westward, which means-"

"Which means..." she began, brightening. "Maybe he slipped? Maybe we've got him?"

"We're a step closer than we were, that's for damn sure."

"Oh, Sam..." Suddenly Emma felt renewed. A fresh energy pulsated through her veins.

"Now don't go flying off on borrowed wings, Emma," he cautioned, laughing, loving her enthusiasm. He put a hand on her arm, urging her back into the chair before she could propel herself into the room. "We're not there yet. We're getting there, but we've got a ways to go."

A shadow loomed over them. Louise and Jimmy were standing there, grinning from ear to ear. The young manservant was behind them, held firmly in place by the plump, round-faced chef who was glowering up at him.

"I think the way just got a bit shorter, Chief Inspector," Louise said, a small giggle of joy bubbling from her lips.

"I beg your pardon?" Sam asked, puzzled.

"Meet Freddy Appleton," said Jimmy, pointing at the young boy. "And Hénri Dudévánt." He indicated the chef. "They have something they'd like to share with us."

Emma rose, gazing with steely eyes at the boy as she turned red. "Well? Speak up, what is it?"

Freddy gasped and choked on the words that wouldn't come.

"Speak up, son, we haven't got all day."

Sam nudged her. "Easy, Emma. Give the boy a minute."

But Hénri Dudévánt didn't look particularly intent on giving the boy a minute or an easy time, either one. He pulled impatiently on the boy's arm and demanded, "Well? Do you not have something to say to the Superintendent, boy?"

"I...I..."

Another sharp tug. "Go on, boy, before I pull you arm out of its socket." The chef's thick French pronunciation came out 'so-quette'. He made a small growling noise. "You are wasting our time, Freddy. Go. Tell the Superintendent what you saw."

Saw? Emma seized upon the word. The impatience dropped from her voice. "Saw? Did you see something, Freddy?"

Despite the hand like a vise around his arm, Freddy didn't seem particularly anxious to speak up. He ducked his eyes and mumbled, "I don't know..."

Now Sam grew anxious. "You don't _know_? How can you not know? Either you saw something or you didn't."

"He saw something all right," Hénri insisted. "Now tell them, Freddy. Tell the officers what you saw when the man stole from Monsieur and Madame Tate."

"A man? You saw a man?" Emma cried triumphantly.

Freddy finally looked up from the carpet. He tugged at the collar of his suit. "I...I saw a man," he agreed finally.

"Good God! This is like pulling teeth!" Emma growled. "Look, Freddy, you're only making this hard on yourself. Just tell us what you saw!"

"I don't...I don't know."

Jimmy and Lou had to reign in their urge to choke the boy. Jimmy clenched his fists together and shoved them in his pockets in order to prevent himself from doing exactly that.

Sam tried another tactic, appealing to the young man's sense of heroism. "Listen, Freddy, you're the first witness we've had. Do you realise what that means? It means you have the power to put away a person guilty of murder and robbery. _You_. You have that power. You're our special weapon now, Freddy; we can't do this without you. Won't you help us?"

"I'm afraid." Freddy looked younger than his eighteen years, vulnerable and frightened.

"We'll protect you," Louise assured him.

Freddy looked at her doubtfully. "You?" he asked, taking in her small, slight frame.

Lou grinned. "Not me personally, no."

"We can protect you, Freddy," Emma said. "We can see that you don't come to any harm, I promise. You can stop this man from doing this again. You'll be a hero."

"I don't care about being a hero. I only care about staying alive." Freddy was abruptly defiant.

"We'll keep you alive."

"But you don't know!" he protested. "You don't know-someone like that! He could have power, money, contacts, anything!"

Without warning Sam advanced on the young man, grabbing him, his face inches away from Freddy's. "Listen to me, kid, no more of this bollocks, do you hear me? You're lucky to be alive! As far as we can tell this man has killed his witnesses. Do you realise how close you came to death tonight? This man has murdered before, he will murder again-unless you help us. _You_, Freddy."

Grey eyes wide with utter horror, Freddy went slack-jawed. When Sam released him, he stepped back a bit and concentrated once again on the floor. His voice came out softly, "He was very tall. Black hair. Cleft in his chin."

Hearts racing, Emma, Sam, Louise, and Jimmy managed not to comment on the fact that so far the description matched Julian Westward. "Do you think you could pick him out, Freddy, if we were to show you his picture?" asked Emma carefully.

"S'pose," shrugged the boy. "Yeah, I reckon so."

"Can we take you down to the station with us?" She was gentle now.

Another shrug. "Yeah, I can come."

It was all she could do not to rub her hands together with glee. Emma patted Jimmy on the shoulder. "Hickok, you and Louise find out if the Tates are willing to have young Mr Appleton here appointed with a solicitor. Kid!" she called, waiting till his sandy brown head poked up from the huddle of officers. "You and Nan escort him to the nick. Wait for me there. Don't start anything without me."

"Right, Guv." Kid stopped short, looking around. "Um, where is she?"

"What do you mean where is she? She should have been here ages ago."

"I haven't seen her since we got here."

"I saw her in the break room," volunteered Jimmy. "We got the page and she said she'd be along in a minute."

"I saw her after that. I told her to grab some files and head over here," Emma said. "Hasn't anyone seen her since then?"

Each officer shook his or her head, looking to the others to see similar responses.

"Try paging her."

"Come to think of it, I tried that, Guv. About an hour ago," Ike said.

"And?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Well, this is no good."

"Maybe she got lost..." But then Noah's voice trailed off. Nan knew this city as well as any taxi driver. She could rattle off directions from almost anywhere in London.

"Her pager wasn't working. Maybe she never got the page," Jimmy offered weakly. His heart was beginning to do funny things inside of him. This felt wrong.

Sam shook his head. "That doesn't explain why she never showed in the first place."

All action seemed to have ceased momentarily. Then it picked up again. Emma sighed. "We'll have to sort this out later. In the meantime, Kid, take Buck with you."

Jimmy frowned. "What about Nan?"

"I said we'll sort it out later. There's not much we can do about it now. Maybe her car broke down."

"She doesn't have a car."

"Well, maybe the train broke down! Maybe the taxi broke down. Jesus, I don't know! She's a grown woman, she can take care of herself." Emma's impatience masked her fear. Years on the force had taught her to rely on instinct, and right now it was telling her that something was wrong. But was it a policewoman's instinct talking, or that peculiar motherly instinct she felt at the strangest of times?

"Let me go look for her," said Jimmy.

"No. We need you here."

"But what if _Nan_ needs me?"

"If something were really wrong, she would have paged one of us," said Louise. "Right?" She looked to Kid for affirmation. "Right?"

It took a moment and Kid gave it serious thought, before remembering the strength and independence that were such prominent characteristics in Nan. She wouldn't want anyone to worry; she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

"Right."


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_What are regrets?_

_They're just lessons we haven't learned yet_

"Sweetest Decline" – Beth Orton

* * *

_N_o one could stop Jimmy from pacing the main hallway of the nick. His brow furrowed, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, he wore a pattern in the tiled floor, his head bowed low. Five pages to Nan had had no outcome; the answering machine was not picking up at her flat; no one at the nick had seen her since earlier that evening. Kid had even gone as far as phoning Will, who had had no idea where his granddaughter might be, and Nan's friend Geoff Devanney, who wasn't home.

"This just isn't like Nan," remarked Kid unnecessarily. He exhaled loudly and kicked at the edge of his desk. "She _always_ lets someone know where she is."

"I'm worried about Jimmy, too," Louise added, eyes focused through the open doors where Jimmy could be seen in the hallway, now leaning up against the wall.

Cody was thoughtful. "Maybe someone should go by her place and check on her. I'd be willing to-hang on," he said, reaching for the buzzing phone. "Cody here...Who?...Yeah, send him back." The phone clattered back into place and he looked around at his friends. "A friend of Nan's is on his way back here. Geoff somebody-or-other."

"Geoff Devanney," Ike said. "Good bloke. Nan's known him for ages."

"Who is he?" asked Jimmy, striding through the doors. There was an edge to his voice.

Kid tried to temper his words with lightness, but the strain of the situation caused them to weigh heavily, "Now is not the time to get jealous, Hickok."

"Who's jealous? I just want to know who this guy is."

A lanky man dressed to the nines in tuxedo and overcoat had breezed through the doors and was in time to hear Jimmy's request. "I'd be rather interested to know who _you_ are, myself," he said. His broad smile encompassed all faces, familiar and unfamiliar. There was an easiness about his countenance, an immediate kindness that was evident from the moment he had stepped into the room.

Jimmy turned to face the well-dressed stranger, inspecting him carefully. "Lieutenant James Hickok."

"Ah, yes!" Geoff's face lit up with humour, recalling Nan's confession. "Geoff Devanney. Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant."

"Pleasure," Jimmy repeated grudgingly.

Geoff looked around expectantly. "Well? Where is the little vixen? I might have known she'd make me late."

"She's not here, Geoff," Iain Langley answered.

Geoff feigned a look of shock. "Am I being stood up? She wasn't at her flat; I checked there first."

"We don't know where she is." Ike's words fell flat in the room.

"How can you not know where she is?"

Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We just don't."

"Have you tried her grandfather?"

"Of course." Kid sighed. "He has no idea. On top of that, now he's apoplectic with worry."

"You've paged her? Phoned her?"

"We've done _all_ of that, Geoff," insisted Kid.

Silence prevailed in the room. Geoff stood, sweltering in his heavy wool overcoat. He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know...we had these tickets to this fundraiser one of my clients is giving...It isn't like her to cancel and not let me know." He quickly withdrew a mobile from within the depths of his coat and punched in a number. "Let me speak to Dru, please...Hallo, sweetheart, are you busy?...Good. Listen, have you heard anything from Anna?...Nothing?...No, I'm at the station right now. No one's seen her for ages. They don't know where she is...Well, try again, would you?...Yeah, let me know. Okay. Bye, love." He slapped the phone shut and addressed the officers, "That was my fiancée. She just tried Nan a few minutes ago and didn't get the machine. She's going to try again. I think maybe I should stop by her flat; I've got a key."

"I'm coming with you," Jimmy said.

Geoff nodded agreement. "Yes, that would be fine. Anyone else?" His black fringe fell over his brow as he shook his head in consternation. "I'm a little worried."

Jimmy was already heading out the door. "Join the club." His long legs strode through the station so quickly that he soon left his companion behind.

It was a moment before Geoff was able to catch up with his frenetic pace. "Slow down, Lieutenant, for God's sake. I'm a pack-a-day smoker, I can't possibly keep up."

"You really ought to quit that. It's a dangerous habit."

A smirk crept across Geoff's handsome, typically English features. "You don't say. Actually, I think I may have heard that somewhere."

Jimmy chuckled, but said nothing. They had entered the parking garage.

"What?" Geoff asked.

"You and Nan. Sarcasm is like a currency you deal in."

"That's probably pretty accurate," grinned Geoff. "My car's just over that way. Are you sure you shouldn't be staying behind, Lieutenant?"

"It's Jimmy. And no, I shouldn't be staying behind. I'm right where I should be."

* * *

_F_reddy Appleton looked even more afraid than he had at the Tates'. He chewed the edge of an already-bitten fingernail, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Emma and Sam had tried unsuccessfully to coerce the boy into giving answers. The only sounds in the room were the almost imperceptible whirring of the tape in the machine and the tapping of Sam's foot against the tiled floor. He and Emma had made a silent pact to give the boy all the time he needed, to not push him into answering anything before he was ready. It was difficult as hell, but he would stick by it.

As the minutes ticked by, Emma's mind sifted through questions and facts: since the remaining members of the firm had been put under police protection-and advised against giving any parties or holding large get-togethers-Westward had abandoned his usual practice of striking in the midst of fancy soirées. No doubt a wise move on his part, but somehow it didn't sit well; it just didn't fit in with the methodical, calculating picture he had painted for himself. Twirling one curl around her finger, Emma gazed at the floor, her mind working fast and furious.

The Tates' solicitor, Ria Hamilton, a soft-looking woman in a bright red suit, nudged Freddy after several wordless minutes. "Freddy," she prompted. "You really need to answer the Superintendent's question."

The young man looked at her imploringly. "Do I?"

"There's nothing to be afraid of. They're here to help you, Freddy. And they need you to help them."

"That's right," Emma was soothing. "Let's all help each other, Freddy. You have the power to put away a murderer. Right now you're our only hope. Please, Freddy, before he does this again. Please. Can't you help us?"

It was another agonising moment before at last Freddy nodded. "All right. Yeah, okay, I can do."

Sam exhaled sharply in relief. "Thank God. Okay, son, tell us what happened tonight and what you saw."

Apparently incapable of immediately answering any statement, Freddy paused while his eyes skittered around the room again, resting here and there before finally stopping to focus on his hands as they twisted on the table before him. "It was about six o'clock," he said. "The mister was due home and he and the missus were supposed to attend some function-some charity thing or other, I don't really know." His East End burr hesitated, halted, became more pronounced. "The missus likes a bit of refreshment before she goes out, so she asked me to go down to the kitchen and fix her something. I don't know why, but I took the back stairs instead of the front ones, like I usually do." He scraped at an invisible spot on his palm.

"I was about halfway down the steps when I heard a noise coming from the mister's study. It made me suspicious. No one's allowed in the mister's study except the butler, and I knew he was upstairs. Well, the door was opened a bit, and I peeked through, and I saw him."

"Him?" prompted Sam.

Freddy nodded. "Don't know who he was; never seen him before." He didn't meet anyone's eyes. "But he was closing up the safety chest. He was so careful about it that for a minute I didn't even think what he was really doing. It almost seemed natural the way he did it."

"And you got a good look at this man?" asked Emma.

"Yeah, a really good look."

"You described him as..." Emma consulted the statement that had been taken down earlier. "'Very tall, about six-feet-three-inches. Slim. Black hair cut short. Cleft chin. Dressed in black shirt and jeans.'" She looked at Freddy. "No idea how old he was?"

"Older than me," replied the shrugging boy, still avoiding her gaze.

Emma hid a grin at that. "Anything else you can remember?"

Freddy wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. "He smelled like aftershave. Something expensive. I got a whiff of it all the way across the room."

"Is that all?"

"He had a gun. A big, black shiny one. Don't know the kind. I've seen it on the telly, though."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"And after you saw him closing up the safe, what did he do next? What then?" asked Sam.

Freddy coloured deep red. "Look," he stammered, "are-are you going to tell the Tates that I-that I didn't do anything to stop him? I'll lose my job if you tell them that!" His voice escalated into panic. "I didn't know _what_ to do! I was _scared_! He had a _gun_!"

Ria Hamilton touched a hand lightly to his elbow. "Calm down, Freddy. Just calm down," she urged.

"He had a gun," Freddy repeated weakly, pressing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "I can't believe he had a gun."

"Freddy, listen to me. Listen, all right?" Emma felt a wave of sympathy for the young man. "The Tates are extremely grateful to you, Freddy, for coming forward as a witness. They're much happier that no one was hurt than they are concerned about their jewellery. They've hired Ms Hamilton as your solicitor, they're willing to do whatever they can to help you help us. Now please, tell us what happened next."

Slightly mollified, he said, "He closed up the safe and walked around the room, but only for a few seconds. I saw him look through Mr Tate's appointment book. He stopped on one page, but I don't know which one because he closed it after that. Then he was gone, out the door. The study is right by the front door. I was on the back stairs, you see. I knew there was no way I could get help before he was gone-I knew I wouldn't even have time to get to him on my own."

Sam felt pity similar to Emma's. This boy was so young, despite earlier bravado, and it was clear that his lack of heroism was eating away at him. "You did the right thing, Freddy, I promise you that. You would have been hurt or killed. The man had a gun and even the bravest boy is no match for a man with a gun. You did the right thing by keeping quiet and then coming forward to us."

"I almost didn't," Freddy hesitated to remind him.

Ria patted his hand and Emma said, "Never mind that. The important thing is that you did."

For the first time, Freddy smiled. He was painfully grateful for their reassurances. "I didn't mean to let anyone down. Not-you know, not anyone."

"You didn't let anyone down. As a matter of fact, you've given us a great deal of hope," Emma said. "Now you just wait here for a few minutes. Chief Inspector Cain and I are going to retrieve some photographs of possible suspects for you to look over." Voice aimed at the recorder, she continued, "The time is now 22.23, and Superintendent Shannon and Chief Inspector Cain are terminating the interview temporarily."

With a last backward look to the forlorn young man, Emma and Sam left the room, closing the door behind them. Their heads drew closer together. "Well?" Sam asked. "What do you think?"

"I think the bastard's got a noose around his neck," she replied, pounding a fist lightly against Sam's shoulder. She was grinning broadly. "That boy's seen him. All he has to do is identify him from the photo and not only do we have a witness to our prime suspect, we've also got proof enough to drag Westward in here!"

They began striding down the hall toward the incident room. "I want two of your boys at Westward's, ready for us to notify them to bring him in."

"Already done," smiled Sam.

"Clever boy."

"I was hoping something like this would happen."

"Where are the photos?" Emma barked. Kid was sitting on his desk wearing a defeated expression similar to that of every other officer in the room. "What's going on?"

"Jimmy just called from Nan's flat-"

"How'd he get in there?"

Ike waved her away. "That's not important, Emma. Jimmy says Nan's not there. He and Geoff Devanney searched the place and found clothes all over her room, drawers emptied, things scattered everywhere."

Emma was frozen suddenly. She felt dizzy. "So maybe she's a messy housekeeper?" she asked in a tight voice.

Kid rolled his eyes. "They found a _camera_, Emma! A tiny video camera that had been hidden in a picture frame on her dresser."

"We thought our boys got them all," protested Sam, hand at Emma's back to steady her.

"This isn't like her!" exclaimed Noah, the third to do so that day. "Nan doesn't just wander off and not let someone know, especially when we're working, and _especially_ not with everything that's gone on recently! _No_ one knows where she is, Emma! Not her grandfather, not her uncle, not us-_no_ one!"

The sigh that rolled from Emma's lips was slow and laboured. "Oh, God..."

"What do we do?" Louise asked in a tone that suggested she was not expecting answers.

"We have to give her twenty-four hours," answered Sam. A groan of protest rose in the room. "I know, I know. I hate it, too! But it's the law. We have to."

"We don't have to wait any damn twenty-four hours before _we_ start looking," growled Kid. "She's our friend! So far we haven't been able to help her. Well, I'll be buggered if I sit here and let anything else happen to her!"

Sam had scooped up the photographs he and Emma had come for: a snap of Westward, several more of men similar to him in build and stature. "Is Jimmy coming back?"

"Not yet. He and Geoff are going by Nan's grandfather's house."

"Emma?" Sam looked to the woman he loved, pained at the expression of bewilderment on her face. "Emma, this is your call. These are your officers. What do you want them to do?"

"I don't know..." Sinking down into the chair behind her, Emma looked lost and overwhelmed. "I just don't know. Jesus, this is all getting to be too much. I don't know what to do anymore." To their horror, tears began to fill her subdued eyes. Her head shook in futility. "It's just too much." Lack of sleep and the constant demands being made on her were building up into a sudden crescendo. The stress she had been hiding so well over the past few weeks came bubbling to the surface, overflowing onto her normally composed features. Her face crumpled and she hid behind her hands.

Her officers could only stare, stricken mute with shock. Never before had they seen Emma like this. No matter how ugly or sordid or just plain frustrating a case became, she was always their rock, their stable force, the very source upon which they relied for strength and support. To see her fall to pieces like this stopped everyone in their tracks. No one moved or said a word, except for Sam, who said to hell with his own reputation, and knelt at Emma's side, arms around her, murmuring gently into her ear. His hand stroked patiently at her back and after a moment Emma seemed to calm.

Her head lifted to reveal a face streaked with tears. She whispered to Sam and he whispered back and then he took her hand and they stood together. Emma wiped her face dry as best she could. She smiled shakily. "I'm sorry, everyone. I don't know what came over me."

Louise smiled. "It's nothing the rest of us haven't gone through before, Guv."

"It just all became too much to take," she explained. "I guess I've been holding that back for a while."

"You don't have anything to apologise for, Emma," said Buck.

She smiled at him gratefully. "You decide amongst yourselves. I trust you to do what's best for Nan and the rest of us. I leave the decisions in your capable hands. Just keep me updated, that's all I ask."

"We'll take care of it, boss. Everything will be fine. Don't you worry," promised Cody.

"I'm counting on it."

Sam had the photos in his hand and he ushered Emma out into the hall again. They moved slowly toward the interview room. He slipped an arm around her. "Will you be all right, sweetheart?"

"Yes, I'll be fine." She wiped her nose with the kerchief he offered. "It just all seemed to come over me at once. I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be. No one else was. Are you sure you're up to the rest of this interview?"

She nodded. "Positive."

Freddy and Ria Hamilton were just as they had left them. The boy was back to sulking a bit. Sam wondered briefly what the hell his problem was exactly and then dismissed it. He began the interview again and Emma said, "These are some photographs, Freddy. We'd like for you to go through them and tell us if any of them are the man you saw at the Tates' this evening."

"Who are the men?" asked Freddy.

"They're our suspects. Once we heard your description of the man's physical characteristics, we narrowed it down to these few here," Sam lied.

"Please take a look a them, Freddy."

"Once I look at them, can I go?"

Ria Hamilton looked quickly to the officers to see their response. Then she said, "After you've signed a statement, yes, you can go."

With that, Freddy nodded and indicated for Emma to show him the first photograph. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Emma held up Julian Westward's picture first. Freddy studied it for a moment, carefully, and then motioned for the next.

Emma looked helplessly to Sam. "Wait-you want to see the next one?"

"Yeah," the boy replied easily. "Keep going."

Sam leaned over the table. His voice was laced with apprehension. "Are you sure? Maybe you need to take a closer look." He took the photo from Emma and held it up again-a close-up of the handsome, arrogant face and piercing eyes. The room was thick with tension and growing fear.

"Why would I need to take a closer look?" Freddy flicked the snapshot impatiently. He avoided their eyes. "It's not him."


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Collect my thoughts together_

_I have to hold my head_

_It seems that she is gone_

"The Hounds of Winter" - Sting

* * *

_R_achel and Teaspoon had just settled down with breakfast when the doorbell rang. Fork poised in the middle of an especially nice piece of bacon, Teaspoon looked up toward the intruding sound with a disgusted face.

"It never fails," he said, his surly voice sounding particularly perturbed at that moment. "You sit down with a meal and good company and the phone rings or someone's at the door. Never fails. I'll get it for you, Rachel."

Grumbling all the way to the door, Teaspoon pulled it open with a quick jerk. When he saw Jimmy standing on the other side, his frown was replaced by a wide, if rather bewildered smirk. He nodded to the dishevelled, tuxedoed stranger at Jimmy's side. "Hey there, fellas. What can I help you with?" As soon as the simple words were out of his lips, Teaspoon took a closer look at the two men before him, and knew that whatever they had come for, it was anything but simple.

The tall, dark stranger in the wrinkled tuxedo had a sleepy, distressed look in his eyes matched only by Jimmy's. Both were weary-eyed and haggard, their hair matted, their clothes crumpled. Something gave Teaspoon the distinct impression that these two were nearly dead on their feet. He opened the door further. "Come in, boys."

Rachel had risen from the table. "Teaspoon? Who is it?" Her eyes fell on Jimmy. "Lieutenant Hickok?"

Geoff smiled through a yawn and shook hands with Teaspoon. "Geoff Devanney. I'm a friend of Anna Kenworthy's."

"Is something wrong, Mr Devanney?"

"It's Anna, Mr Hunter. She's gone. She's missing. No one knows where she is."

"And before you ask," said Jimmy, speaking up for the first time, "we've tried friends, family, her apartment, everything."

"Well, anything I can do to help, I'd be more than happy to. You know that, Jimmy. Any friend of yours."

"Thank you, Mr Hunter, but that's not really why we're here." Geoff looked over at Rachel, hesitating. He cleared his throat nervously. "We're here to see Ms Dunne."

"Me?" Rachel's hand went to her throat.

"What would you fellas want with Rachel?"

Jimmy and Geoff looked to one another. Teaspoon could see what was going on as clearly as if they were two little boys nudging one another-'You go first,' 'No, you go first.'

"Well, one of you had better tell me what's going on."

"We need to ask Rachel some questions, Teaspoon. Questions about her ex-husband."

"You're here to ask me about Julian?"

"Jimmy thinks he has something to do with Nan's disappearance."

"No, I think he has _everything_ to do with her disappearance," Jimmy corrected him.

Rachel had turned a frightening shade of white. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the two young men. Teaspoon was afraid she was going to faint, but when she spoke her voice was strong. "Has she been receiving letters? Phone calls? Photographs?"

"How did you know that?" asked Teaspoon. He didn't like the meaningful sound in her voice. "Rachel?" She didn't answer. "Rachel, how do you know that?" Her cornflower blue eyes met his. He read them as clearly as if she had spoken the words. "My god," he breathed in disbelief. "He's done this to you too, hasn't he? These phone calls you've been getting-they're not the first time. Are they?"

In answer, Rachel averted her eyes, a blush of shame rising on her cheekbones.

Teaspoon's voice was strained when he spoke again. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Geoff and Jimmy shifted uncomfortably where they stood, embarrassed at the emotional turn the conversation had taken. Jimmy would never forget the look of shock and horror on his chief's face.

"It was years ago. Let's talk about this later, Teaspoon," urged Rachel.

"Later?" Teaspoon's eyes were unforgiving. "Yeah, I guess 'later' is as good a time as any, seeing as how we've already waited years."

Inwardly Rachel felt like breaking down. The years of self-imposed exile in England, keeping herself away from her friends, her family, her former existence, had been some of the most difficult of her life. Always it was in the back of her mind how much easier it would be, how much safer, to share her burdens with someone who cared. Usually that someone had been Teaspoon, her old friend, her champion. But now, after too many years living in fear of Julian, it was almost impossible to make the words form. She had been afraid for so long. "I promise you," she told the grey-haired man before her, "that I will tell you everything, Teaspoon. But not now."

He wouldn't look at her. He felt hurt and betrayed that she'd kept such a secret from him for so long. He had shared a deep friendship with this woman for many years. It had been hard enough to be held at arm's length for all this time; now to find out that something this horrific had happened to her, to find that she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him, that hurt more than he could ever tell her.

Jimmy and Geoff were waiting, nervous, worried about Nan. Teaspoon nodded to Rachel, but he couldn't look at her. "All right. It can wait."

Unsure whether she should feel relieved or nervous at his sudden acquiescence, Rachel just nodded in return and gestured for the two young men to sit down. "Tell me what it is you want to know," she said when they had all settled. Both boys were exhausted; she felt weary just looking at them. The mutual, haunted look of fear in their eyes was enough to make anyone's heart tremble in sympathy and she was no exception.

"What kind of man is your ex-husband, Ms Dunne?" asked Jimmy. Noting the questioning look on her face, he continued, "We know what he's capable of, we know what he's done before. Hell, I've met the son of a bitch myself. But what kind of man is he? What kind of temper does he have? What are his habits? His weaknesses? Do you know why he's picked on Nan specifically?"

"Hold on, son. You need to give Rachel a minute to sort through all these questions." Teaspoon was cautious, but proud of Jimmy's level head and prudent questions, especially in a situation like this, where he was obviously more affected than he cared to let on.

Rachel's hands were shaking as she tried to fight back the memories of Julian. They were memories both good and bad: of days of love and sunshine, making love in fancy hotels, days with smiles and laughter and trust; and they were days of dark moods, bursts of outrage, cruelty, living in fear of every move, every action, no longer recognising the man she had once imagined she loved. When her thoughts cleared, all three men were staring at her intently. She smiled weakly. "He's a lot of things, Lieutenant, not the least of which is that he's a very complicated man. But I believe he's capable of anything. As for why he picked on your friend specifically," she shrugged, not in nonchalance, but in uncertainty, "well, she's young, she's pretty, she's intelligent. She probably sparked some interest in Julian whether she realised it or not. One way or another Julian goes after what he wants."

"Are you saying..." Geoff was unable to finish the sentence. The thought made him physically ill.

Teaspoon saw this and understood where Geoff's thoughts had been leading. "Rachel, are you saying that Westward has-has an _interest_ in Anna?"

"An interest? Teaspoon, I'm saying he's probably developed a fixation. This isn't about getting to the police or somehow trying to ruin the investigation. This is about obsessions. It's about a man getting what he wants. In the end, that's really what Julian's about."

"You could be wrong," Geoff said hopefully.

"She's not wrong." Jimmy hardly recognised his own voice. "I've seen the letters. I've seen the photographs. She's not wrong."

Geoff paled. "Oh, God..."

"Hold on, we don't even know that Westward's got anything to do with this." Teaspoon was trying to be the voice of reason, but he felt the hollow ring of his own words.

"Dammit, Teaspoon, didn't you hear what Rachel just said? This is exactly Westward's style!" Jimmy was furious. "The letters, the photographs, everything! He wants her and he's finally found a way of getting her!"

"I'm just saying we should exercise a measure of caution, Jimmy, that's all."

"The hell with that! You wouldn't be sitting here saying that if it was Lou we were talking about!"

Teaspoon flinched. "Now Jimmy, that's not fair and you know it. You need to be reasonable."

"I'm sick to death of reasonable! I've had it up to _here_ with reasonable! Reasonable's what got Nan into this in the first place!"

"Jimmy, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I've suspected Westward from the beginning, but I decided to be reasonable and not say anything until I was sure. Well, now I'm sure! Being reasonable got me nowhere and it cost me everything."

The sheer force and passion of Jimmy's voice were enough to subdue Teaspoon. He kept his sermon in check and stared at the young man with the blazing eyes who now stood before him. This was James Hickok, the way he was, and nothing could be done to change him. He didn't _want_ anything done to change him. This fire and drive and determination were what made him Jimmy. And now, maybe this love he had for Anna Kenworthy was making him something more.

"We'll help you, son." Teaspoon rose and clasped Jimmy's shoulder. They were eye to eye. "We'll help you every way we can."

* * *

_F_reddy Appleton's statement was tacked to one of the boards on the wall. Louise, Kid, and Buck were crowded around it, reading it over for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Each time they reached the end, where Freddy' scrawling handwriting served as verification that the above statement was correct, the three officers would shake their head in anger.

Finally Louise slapped her palm against the wall with a cry of frustration. "It just doesn't make any _sense_! He described Westward perfectly!"

"But he didn't _implicate_ him, Lou, and that's the important part," Buck reminded her.

"Don't worry," she groaned. "I haven't forgotten."

From across the room there was a bark of excited laughter from Ike, who was sitting in front of a laptop and had been typing away for nearly an hour. "Technology is truly a wonderful thing. Come here, folks, take a look at this." He waited until they had gathered behind him, each focusing their eyes on the small screen. "I wish this thing was wider, but that can't be helped. Anyway, check this out." A few quick punches on the keyboard and suddenly a blurry image shot to the screen. It cleared after a moment, filling every inch of the rectangular area. "This is a video from Emerson and O'Hara over in Covent Garden. It was shot today, about half an hour ago. They emailed it over here. I think you'll appreciate it."

The video began and it took mere seconds for a chorus of gasps to arise from the officers. Kid pointed to the screen. "That's Westward!"

"Yeah, and where is he going?" prompted Ike.

"He's going into Atherton's!" Lou shrieked, nearly piercing Ike's eardrums.

Ike's grin was huge. His brown eyes were lit from within. This was technology at its best, suiting its purpose, and this was his territory. He was zipping through more files and then another video began. It was Westward's house, taken through the faintly tinted windows of the car where Langley and Albarn had been stationed the night before. A car pulled up across the street and into the driveway. The zoom went into quick effect, and suddenly the camera was peering mere inches away from the car door as it opened. The figure that emerged wasn't familiar to anyone but Louise and Kid.

"That's Atherton," Kid's voice was ragged with excitement.

Noah grinned, unable to hide his pleasure in the discovery. "_Nigel_ Atherton?"

"That's the one."

"The plot thickens."

"So," began Kid, folding his arms and walking around the incident room as he spoke, "Nigel Atherton, the only one to come forward on the attempted sale of the stolen jewels, popping into Westward's for a social call. A bit odd, don't you think?"

"We haven't been able to locate anyone else who was approached with the sale of any of the stolen jewels," Noah added, joining in the fact summary. "Which leads us to believe that either the thief gave up after he was turned down by Atherton-a belief which I find pretty bloody unlikely-or that Atherton was never more than a red herring in the first place."

"I vote for the red herring," chimed in Buck.

Cody was amazed. "Does the man really not know he's being followed? If the police suspected me of something like this, I know _I'd_ be expecting them to be watching me."

"It was late, it was dark. Emma said he'd slip. Besides, he could always claim this was regarding business; his wife does own the place," Louise replied. "But maybe this is what we've been waiting for."

"I'm trying not to get my hopes up." Cody looked up at Emma and Sam's sudden entrance. There were papers in Emma's hand and Sam looked as if he'd just been handed the prize of a lifetime. Both were nearly skipping through the room.

Emma tossed the papers onto the table where they landed with a slap. "Oh, I'd say it's about time to start getting those hopes us, Sergeant," she said.

"What?" Louise raised her eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing much." Sam was deliberately casual. "Just a bit of interesting information we picked up after some more research."

"Quit being coy. Tell us what you found," demanded Lou.

"What we found," answered Emma, "is that we were looking in the wrong place. That is, we were looking in the right place, but not for the right information."

Kid tossed his superintendent a look of impatience. "You're going to drive us mad if you keep dragging this out."

"Kid's right."

"Just tell us!"

"Come on, Guv, don't drag this out!"

"Someone had better start talking!"

"My, my," Emma clucked. "Patience is a virtue, hasn't anyone ever taught you that?"

Sam laughed. "Oh, come on. I think we should just tell them, Emma, don't you?"

Emma pretended to think about it. "They have been awfully good boys and girls, haven't they?"

"Guv," Noah said in warning. His eyes were like daggers.

Leaning over the table, Emma pointed to a paragraph on one of the papers. She poked it repeatedly for emphasis. "Nigel Atherton, convicted of petty theft in 1990. Convicted of grand theft in 1992, breaking and entering in 1993."

"What happened to 1991?" smirked Ike. "Turned over a new leaf?"

"He spent the year in a correctional facility. In 1994 our mate Nigel moved to Paris, France, where he worked as a courier for a high-profile investment firm. Any ideas what firm that might have been?" Emma looked to her officers with a playful gaze, a teacher questioning her star pupils.

"Wouldn't happen to be LaChaille Investments by any chance, would it?" asked Louise with fake uncertainty.

"And the little lady wins a prize!"

Emma went on. "Well, our mate Nigel continued with LaChaille Investments right up until the time-surprise, surprise-that our _other_ good mate, Mr Julian Westward, was asked to leave the company."

Buck stared in disbelief. He was remembering the sight of Nigel Atherton getting out of his car: tall, black hair, cleft chin. "Emma, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Let me go ahead and say it, just so we're all clear: I'm saying Nigel Atherton is working for Julian Westward and has been for quite some time. I'm saying we were duped into believing his story about being offered the jewels for sale. I'm saying Westward's the man with the plan and Atherton's merely his pawn." Emma watched her words sink into the young people around her.

"What's more," added Sam, "Westward's been throwing us red herrings all along. And I'm not just talking about Atherton."

Puzzled looks were exchanged. Then Noah's face brightened. "Of course! The night _he_ was robbed. The bastard murdered Eric Jeffries!"

"Oh, but there's more." Emma walked over to the board where Freddy Appleton's statement was pinned. She tapped it. "You see, we've left out one very minor, but very significant piece of information."

"Which is?" Buck asked. The suspense was beginning to eat away at them all.

Sam picked up one of the files and held it up, face out, for all to see. "Nigel Atherton. Born Christopher Nigel Appleton in Lancashire, 21 April 1963."

For a moment the words hung in the air. Then Kid whispered, "Appleton?"

Sam nodded firmly.

"He wouldn't..." Ike cleared his throat. "By any chance, would he...?"

"Well, it would explain why we didn't get much out of Freddy, wouldn't it?" Emma said. "He offered to help, but he was trying to throw us off course. The boy's not going to implicate his own brother."


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Time no good_

_Wisdom no good_

_Patience no good_

_To me anymore_

"Wisdom" – David Gray

* * *

_V_ictoria Westward was none too pleased to find six officers standing on her doorstep the following morning. Despite the elegance her perfectly coiffed hair and carefully applied make-up afforded her, there was no hiding her unpleasant reaction. She glared at Emma Shannon.

"What the hell is all this?"

Emma smiled benignly and reached out a hand without taking her eyes off Victoria. A small, folded up parcel of papers was placed in her palm by an equally amused Sam Cain. Her slim fingers closed around the object. "Good morning, Mrs Westward." Emma held the papers out to Victoria, waving them in front of her in a vaguely teasing manner. "We have obtained a court order to search these premises."

"You _what_?" Victoria had turned an unpleasant shade of red.

"This document gives us full rights to search your home, Mrs Westward. I would suggest you not stand in our way."

"Let me see that."

Obligingly, the document was handed over. Victoria skimmed the lines of the pages with increasing fury. "I don't believe this."

"Believe it," Sam retorted. "Please step aside and let us in, Mrs Westward."

Victoria nearly choked on the words. "_All_ of you?"

"All of us."

It took a moment for the situation to fully hit home for Victoria. She stood in the doorway, shivering, dressed in a silk pantsuit, radiating anger and expensive perfume. She looked each officer in the eye in disgust. When her eyes met Emma and caught the fierce determination, only then did Victoria back down. She opened the door wider and the officers began to troop in. She slammed the door shut with finality and hurried to catch up with Emma, who was already striding purposefully down the hallway. "Superintendent!" she called.

Emma came to a halt. "Yes, Mrs Westward?" She was achingly polite.

Victoria's voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper. "If you or any of those clodhopping philistines you call policemen ruin or disturb my belongings in _any_ way, I'll report you immediately!" She stood back, pleased with herself, arms crossed over her chest. Expecting a battle from Emma, she was startled when the superintendent merely nodded courteously.

"If there are any problems, Mrs Westward, you are of course welcome to file a complaint with the station. Now, if you will excuse me..."

Victoria watched in outrage as Emma walked into Julian's study, where Kid and Louise were already sorting through Julian's files. Kid tugged at a locked drawer, then looked at Mrs Westward. "Do you have the key for this?"

"No," she replied, rather too quickly.

Emma gazed at her, frankly disbelieving. "It's not a problem for us to open it using other methods."

"That's against the law!"

"Not with an official court order, Mrs Westward." The smile on Emma's face gave Victoria the shivers; it was a knowing look and conveyed absolute assurance that she knew Victoria was lying.

After a moment Victoria relented. It was difficult to read her expression; the thoughts running through her mind were so dense she could hardly see her way through them. She withdrew a small set of keys from her pocket and handed it to Kid. "These should open every drawer or cabinet in this office. If they don't, well, you'll just have to find other means, won't you?"

Amazed at her sudden acquiescence, Emma said nothing. She watched as Kid opened the drawer and slid it out. She warned herself not to get overly excited, not to get her hopes up. The chances of their finding anything in this office, let alone in the very first drawer they opened, were slim. And she would do well to remember that. This case hadn't gone smoothly so far, there was no reason to think today would be any different.

But the sharp gasp that issued from Louise sent Emma's hopes soaring again, despite her resolve to remain calm. "Emma! Oh God, Emma, look!"

The drawer was filled to the brim with photographs and every one was of Nan. Nan walking down her street, Nan riding the tube, Nan getting into a cab, Nan reading a book in her own sitting room, Nan with her arms wrapped around James Hickok, her mouth pressed to his; and there were so many more. Underneath the photographs lay a soft blue sweater, a Manchester United shirt, a bottle of perfume, an address book.

"These are Nan's," Kid said. His voice was harsh as he surveyed the items. "All of them, they're Nan's things." He held up the t-shirt. "This is her one of her favourite shirts." His voice was pure fury. "She wore this all the time. And this perfume-she _always_ wore this perfume." He rose to his feet so quickly that Victoria and Emma jumped. He neared Victoria and thrust the shirt in her face. "What the hell has he done to her?" He demanded. "She's missing, you know! She's our friend and she's a police officer and she's missing. We've got people out looking for her. We _know_ it was _your husband_! Now tell us what he's done with her!"

There was no mistaking the fear in Victoria's eyes. She backed away from Kid. "I don't know what you mean."

"What? Is this natural?" asked Louise, suddenly at Kid's side. "Does your husband often have photos of girls he barely knows? Does he often have their belongings? I find that hard to believe, Mrs Westward."

"I don't _know_ what he's done with her!" exclaimed Victoria. Realising what she had just said, she clapped her hand over her mouth and looked further horrified.

"You know _something_, though. Don't you?" demanded Emma. She too advanced toward Victoria. For a moment she, Kid, and Louise were united in their anger; the case fell by the wayside. All three were thinking only of Nan.

"No," pleaded Victoria, "I don't. I really don't. I don't know anything." It was amazing to see her reduced to such basic fear; there were no remaining traces of her earlier condescension or arrogance. In that instant Emma knew the truth behind Julian and Victoria Westward's marriage: Julian was the puppet-master and Victoria merely the puppet.

Emma put a hand on Victoria's arm. "I think you'd better talk, Victoria. Don't you think that would be the best thing to do?"

Victoria shrugged her hand off. "What's to talk about? I don't have anything to say! I don't know where your friend is. If Julian's got photos of her in his drawer it's nothing to do with me."

"How can you say that?" Kid was stunned. "He's been _stalking_ her! Leaving her notes and packages and _threatening_ her!"

"You've got no proof it was Julian!"

"Oh, haven't we? Mrs Westward, men don't go around following women they barely know-taking photographs of her, taking belongings from her home! That's not _normal_!" Kid continued to stare at her in wonder. She was going to deny any involvement in this and she would do so with her last breath.

Victoria was defiant. "How do you know your friend isn't involved with my husband?"

Emma had to restrain Kid from pouncing on the woman. "You don't believe that any more than we do," she said.

There was no reply.

"Victoria. Why don't you think about this?" Emma made her voice go soft and coaxing. She was using every ounce of training she had ever received on defensive witnesses. "What have you got to gain by keeping silent? Julian's a _criminal_, Victoria. He's lied and he's stolen and he's _killed_. Now, I don't know your involvement in all this, but I'd be willing to bet you've been a helpless bystander yourself, haven't you?" Emma hoped she'd be able to swallow such a lie. She knew however powerless Victoria was in her marriage, she had had a great deal to do with the current circumstances. "So I ask you again-what have you got to gain by keeping silent? Do you have a husband to rely on?" Emma shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Your husband is obsessed with another woman now. What's to stop him from running? When he's finished with this insane vendetta he has against the members of his firm-what's to stop him from running? He doesn't feel any loyalty to you, Victoria, why should you feel any to him? If he's willing to toss your marriage vows aside so easily, why should you hold them so sacred?"

"I don't know anything," Victoria said pitifully.

Emma's temper flared again. "That's a lie, and you know it. You know _something_, maybe you know _everything_. You've been involved from the very beginning. You probably even had an idea or two of your own along the way, didn't you? Like attracts like, Victoria. You're two peas in a pod."

"Careful, Guv." Now it was Kid who placed a hand of warning on his superintendent. 'Careful, Emma,' he thought. 'Don't blow this. She hasn't got a solicitor with her, we don't want to be hauled in for harassment before we get anywhere.'

As quickly as her anger had risen, it died away again. Emma nodded gratefully at Kid. She was once more calm and rational. "We can strike a deal, Victoria. We can see to it that you're not dealt as harsh a blow as your husband will be. Just _tell_ us."

Victoria stared at the three officers before her: the fiercely earnest superintendent, her curly hair askew; the lanky young man with a face that belonged on a magazine cover; the small young woman with eyes of strength. She could hear the other three officers rummaging around in the room next to them. She felt very tired all of a sudden. Tired of the lies, tired of the deceit, tired of loving Julian and not feeling any love in return. She thought of the jewellery tucked away in their country house, the trips Julian had promised they would take. She thought back to poor young Eric Jeffries, who had been so shy and eager to succeed; to Gérard LaChaille's brother Phílippe, who had always been so sweet and kind to her, as if she were a beloved daughter instead of merely an employee. It wasn't worth remaining silent in order to keep her husband's love. Not anymore.

With a muffled sob, Victoria slid into a chair. She looked pitifully small and unsure of herself. "I may as well," she said. "He isn't here. He hasn't been here for days."

She cleared her throat. "Julian and I met at LaChaille Investments. I was...I was smitten from the start. I was just a little girl from Massachusetts, and he was so handsome and sophisticated. He had a wife, and I envied her. Rachel was so...so beautiful. And capable. And strong. Julian worshipped her. He really did. Whatever happened to their marriage, he did love her very much at one time. I think I sensed that, as well; I wanted that love for myself. And eventually Julian realised I was a kindred spirit." She smiled sardonically at the officers. "I am, you see. Rachel was too good for Julian, but I'm a kindred spirit. We began seeing each other in secret. I was the bookkeeper, and one day Julian inspected the books and he saw that I was 'skimming from the top,' as they say. I had thought I was pretty clever, but he saw right away, and he figured out that I had already taken 400,000 francs in the three months I was employed there. I guess it made him trust me. Soon after that he confided to me the real reason he was at LaChaille." Victoria looked up to see Kid, Louise, and Emma hanging on her every word. It gave her no satisfaction to know that her tale had them mesmerised.

"I know you want some sort of complicated explanation as to why Julian's done all these things," Victoria said. She shrugged. "There isn't one. He wanted their jewellery and possessions, that's all. Nothing more than that. It wasn't revenge, it was just greed. He was a thief. If someone happened to get in his way, well, then he was a murderer too." She paused. "The bad investments, the money laundering, all that-that was just an operation on the side."

If Emma felt disappointment, she didn't show it. She had learned long ago that criminals very rarely had intricate motives as in the movies; avenging a loved one, evening an old score, righting a wrong...those were all brilliant reasons onscreen, but in real life things were far less complex. Someone was greedy or someone was murderous or someone was just plain evil. Her years in the LMPF had not proved otherwise. She wasn't surprised that in the end even a man as clever and imaginative as Julian Westward should be any different.

Victoria was silent. She looked drained, slumping in the chair, waiting for someone to speak.

"Would you be willing to come down to the station and issue a statement, Mrs Westward?" asked Louise.

"I suppose so. I might as well, right?" Victoria's laugh was nervous, edgy. "I've already implicated my own husband...I may as well sign his life away, too."

"And you _are_ stating that your husband is guilty of the crimes we are currently investigating, as well as those committed in Paris?"

"Yes!" Her voice rose higher. "Yes, dammit, that's exactly what I'm saying!" She buried her face in her hands. "God, why are you doing this to me?"

Emma sighed. "We have to be sure, Victoria. And we also have to be sure that you'll issue the statement. If we get down to the station and you refuse, we're at a bit of a loss."

"A bit, huh?" snorted Victoria. "I'd say you were at more than a _bit_. Not to worry, Superintendent, I'll sign the damn statement."

"If you'll just come this way then, please."

"Wait-" Louise stopped them, pulling on Emma's elbow. "What about Nan?"

Victoria turned around slowly. "We have a house in Surrey. Julian likes to go there sometimes. It's a sort of bolt-hole, I suppose." She smiled faintly. "I'd start there."

Kid and Louise watched her go. They each felt a peculiar, sinking feeling. At first Louise was unable to place it, and then she realised what it was: Victoria Westward had confessed, but there was still so much at stake.

* * *

_"Y_ou look like death warmed over, Hickok."

Jimmy lifted tired eyes to Cody and bit back a reply. He saw the concern in Cody's own face. "That's about how I feel," he acknowledged.

"You sure you're up to this?"

"Of course I'm up to it. As soon as Ike and Noah get back, I'm going with you."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Of _course_ I'm sure. Dammit, Cody, I'm going to help you look for her!"

"Just checking." Cody tried to smile and failed. It was hard to keep a happy front when Nan could be in danger. The call from Westward's had come only moments before-an urgent Louise giving them the address in Surrey and a quick summary of Victoria Westward's unofficial statement.

"Where's Devanney?" Jimmy asked.

"Conked out on the sofa in the break room. He won't be wearing that tux again any time soon." A semblance of Cody's smirk finally appeared. "You're _sure_ you can manage, Jimmy? Noah says it's quite a ride to Surrey and you haven't had much sleep lately."

Privately Jimmy agreed, but he wouldn't allow himself even a moment to relax. He had learned long ago that regret got you nowhere, but it still didn't stop him from wishing he had said something about his suspicions from the very beginning. Cody recognised this hell-bent determination in his friend. Jimmy wouldn't rest, either literally or figuratively, until they found Nan and brought her back home. It was more than concern and friendship that had him looking worn and distraught: this woman meant the world to Jimmy.

"We've already field a couple dozen phone calls from Nan's grandfather and uncle," Cody said. "Those old men are gonna drive us up the wall."

"They're concerned, Cody."

"They're out of their minds with worry, Jimmy. Like a certain thick-headed friend of mine I could mention right about now."

Jimmy gave Cody a watery smile. "Thanks for noticing."

Cody shrugged. "S'what I'm here for."

"Cody?"

Rifling through a nearby magazine, Cody stopped. "Yeah?" He had been expecting another verbal jab or a question-anything but what he saw in Jimmy's face and heard in his voice.

"What if...what if we don't find her?"

The look in Jimmy's eyes nearly broke Cody then and there. He had been as strong as he could be, but the pain and fear were so transparent that he felt them acutely. He stood beside his friend and said, as firmly as he could, "We'll _find_ her, Jimmy."

"But how can you know?"

"How can you _not_ know?"

"She, uh...she means a lot to me, Cody."

Cody rolled his eyes, hoping to lighten the mood if only a little bit. "Tell me something the whole station doesn't already know."

"I can't lose her."

"That's why we're going to look for her. So we can bring her back to you, and then the two of you can get together; maybe get married and have a whole passel of smart, good-looking, stubborn-as-hell kids who give their parents every bit as much worry and trouble as their parents give us."

Jimmy shook his head. He was a long way from feeling better, but there was something about Cody that relaxed him. "Thanks," he said. "You're a real source of comfort."

"God knows I try." Cody's voice died away. Ike and Noah were standing, waiting, car keys in hand. He patted Jimmy on the shoulder. "Come on, buddy. It's now or never."


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_Keeping a brave face in circumstances_

_is impossible_

_Cannot describe_

_so many decisions_

_It's impossible to know which is the proper order_

_the best position_

_to be in_

_Or so it seems_

"2:1" - Elastica

* * *

_T_hey were in Surrey by early evening. Jimmy's heart was pounding as they rounded the corner of the long road, Westward's house in the distance. The sudden quiet tension was palpable among the four officers. Noah, who was driving, slowed the car almost to a crawl.

"Well, here we are lads," he said with forced energy.

Ike peered over his shoulder to Jimmy, who was sitting beside him. Hickok's face was drawn tightly, his lips pursed together. He was sitting straight in the seat despite the uncomfortable hours in the car. "You all right?" Ike asked softly.

Jimmy started, as if he had forgotten he was not alone and the question had pierced his meditation. "Yeah, I'm fine, Ike, thanks."

"I've got the warrant here in my hot little hand," Cody said.

Ike shifted again in his seat. "Then there's nothing left but to get up there and search the place."

"Oh yeah," Cody said nonchalantly, "other than that, there's nothing to it." The joke fell flat. No one could even force a laugh. With every second that flew by they were getting closer to the house. Each man could feel himself growing more and more tense.

It was a gorgeous house, simple and elegant, in the grand tradition of English country homes. Cody and Jimmy had no trouble imagining fox hunts and high tea in a place like that. There were no cars in the driveway, but the front door was open. Noah pulled up and stopped the car, the gentle hum of the engine dying away. The four officers stared. After a moment a young woman dressed in slacks and a shirt came out onto the porch. When she saw the car full of strange men, she stopped short and looked visibly startled.

On cue, Noah, Cody, Ike, and Jimmy opened their doors and stepped out of the car. The woman's eyes widened at the sight of them. "Can-can I help you?"

Four badges were flipped open and lifted in display, another simultaneous gesture. "I'm Detective Sergeant McSwain-these are Detective Inspector Dixon, Sergeant Cody, and Lieutenant Hickok. Is Mr Julian Westward available?"

"No." Perplexed, the woman frowned. "Mr Westward hasn't been here in months."

There was no false ring to her voice. She had spoken with easy assurance. Trying not to look as defeated as he felt, Noah asked, "Has _anyone_ been here in the past couple of months?"

"No one besides myself and the rest of the staff."

"And may we ask who you are, ma'am?"

"Angelina Cyrus. I'm the caretaker."

"Ms Cyrus, we have a court order to search this house. May we come in?"

Angelina Cyrus shrugged. "I can't stop you, can I?" Her reaction was surprising: there didn't seem to be the slightest bit of curiosity, not even a flicker of interest. She just stepped aside and let them trudge into the house. "I don't know what you think you're going to find," she said. "The Westwards haven't been here since summer. But here you go." She waved her arm to indicate the house, as if she were making them a gift of it. "I'll just go tell the others you're here." She wandered off down the hall and disappeared.

Jimmy and Ike exchanged a confused look.

"She didn't even ask _why_ we wanted to search the place," Ike said.

"Then let's not question it," Cody replied practically. "Let's just get this show on the road. I'll take these rooms over here."

Ike gestured to the rooms opposite. "I'll take these."

"We'll search upstairs then," Noah said with a nod at Jimmy. "Yell if you find anything."

It didn't look to be an easy task. No one was even very sure what they were looking for, only hoping that when they found it they would know. The first room Ike searched was the sitting room and there was nothing of any import there, not so much as a stray envelope. He poked his way through an empty study and an equally empty breakfast room before heading into the kitchen.

Whether it was the soft soles of his walking shoes, or simply the natural quietness that had been born to him, Ike didn't know; but whatever it was, it allowed him to approach Angelina Cyrus undetected. She was in an opposite corner of the kitchen, her back to him, and she was talking on the phone. Whispering was more like it. But when Ike craned his neck, stepping further into the kitchen, ears straining, he heard murmured bits of the conversation.

"..._told_ you they're here!" Angelina was whispering fiercely. "Now it's up to _you_ to tell _him_ they're here!...You'd better come up with something good, because they're going to be here a while, I can tell from the looks of them...He'll want to know, believe me...Yeah. Best of luck, Nige. See you."

Ike had to stop himself from keeling over. 'Nige'? As in Nigel? As in Nigel Atherton? 'Steady on, Ike,' he warned himself. 'Don't be jumping to conclusions.' But his mind was already racing to assemble the jumbled pieces of conversation he had just heard. Angelina was warning someone that the police were here-but she was warning someone to warn someone else. Who else would need to be kept away but Westward himself?

Always willing to argue his own verdict, Ike quickly considered all the other possibilities and came up with very few. Who else would be warned away from the house simply because there were police officers there? Particularly if those officers had made it blatantly clear that they were there after one person and one person only. No, he had to be right: Angelina Cyrus was warning Nigel Atherton to keep Westward away.

Which meant that Nan could be somewhere in this very house. For a moment Ike fought down a wave of nausea. To think of Nan cooped up somewhere in this house because of that monster...

That is, if he was right.

Slowly, Ike backed out of the room. Angelina was dialling again. She still hadn't noticed he was there. He found Cody in the drawing room downstairs, looking through the desk that leaned against the wall. There was an exasperated look on his face; it was obvious his searches had been as fruitless as Ike's own. Before he could open his mouth to utter a word, Ike heard the unmistakable screeching of tires at the side of the house. He recognised the sound instantly and ran to the picture window that looked out onto the front lawn. A van had pulled to a brief halt. The windows were tinted black. A moment later the tires squealed back into action and the van took off down the drive as if the devil himself was at its back. The realisation came to Ike in a horrible, icy blast of fear. Nan.

They had Nan in there. And now they were taking her away.

"Keys!" He shouted at Cody. "Where are the car keys?"

Cody was baffled. "I don't have them! I can't drive these crazy British cars with their steering wheels on the wrong side and their-"

"Noah!" interrupted Ike. He pushed Cody out of the way and ran through the hall, careening around corners and nearly tripping over his own feet as he dashed up the stairs. "Noah!" he cried as he went. "Noah! Noah, where the hell are you?"

"Jesus, Ike, what's all the racket for?" Jimmy had appeared from one side of the hall. Servants were filtering from various rooms, startled.

"Where the hell is Noah?" Ike panted.

"In there, last time I saw him."

Ike ran into the bedroom Jimmy had pointed to. He nearly collided with Noah as he emerged from a closet.

"Was that you calling my name, McSwain?"

"Keys," gasped Ike. "Give me...the car keys!"

"What for?"

"Noah, please..."

"You're worrying me, Ike."

"_Just give me the sodding car keys, Noah!_"

Wordlessly Noah slipped the ring of keys from his pocket and into Ike's outstretched palm. Never before had he heard Ike raise his voice above a stern declaration. He watched as his friend tore out of the room, heard his footsteps thundering back down the stairs.

Adrenaline rushed through Jimmy's veins. Ike was on to something. He raced after him, catching up with him as he came to the car. Ike didn't even look up as Jimmy opened the opposite car door, just climbed in and started the engine with ferocity. Jimmy didn't even have time to buckle himself in before the car jerked and started and they had pulled out at breakneck speed.

"What are we doing, Ike? You're driving like a bat out of hell!"

"It's just a hunch I have, Jimmy."

"A hunch? You're going to kill us over a goddamn _hunch_?"

"It's a _good_ hunch!" Ike shot back. His fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Is it Westward?"

"No." Ike hesitated. He didn't want to get Jimmy's hopes up.

"Then what _is_ it?"

They had come to the main road. It stretched before them, seemingly endless. Another road spread out to their right, and yet another to their left. All three lanes were quiet and traffic-free. Without warning Ike slammed on the breaks, pounding the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

"Bollocks, bollocks, _bollocks_!" he roared.

"Ike, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"I heard Angelina Cyrus talking on the phone to someone she called 'Nige.' She was warning him to keep someone else away from the house. Then I saw a van taking off suddenly from the house. I thought..."

Jimmy had turned an unearthly pale. "They have Nan in there."

"Yes. At least, I think so."

"And we were so close."

Ike leaned forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. "Not close enough." They sat silent in the car for a long time. Jimmy stared at the empty roads that extended before him, knowing the van could have gone down any of them. Knowing they could be taking Nan anywhere.

* * *

_E_mma couldn't remember a time when she felt more like celebrating and crying at the same time than she did right now. Still, there had to be a first for everything.

They had a signed statement from Victoria Westward, but without Julian Westward himself it was almost worthless. They had Freddy Appleton back in for questioning, but they didn't have Nan at all, and another day had passed. Her officers looked run-down and worried and it was killing her. She didn't care that all of this was beyond her control; she was furious at herself that they hadn't gotten any further than they had. She felt her own helplessness acutely.

The entire team had gathered in the incident room when the next batch of photographs arrived. Sam hadn't even had time to give anyone their assignments for the day. PC Brierly saw the package in PC Duncan's hands and drew in her breath sharply. Emma's hands shook so badly when she reached for it that Kid stepped in and took it for her.

"Should I put on some gloves, Emma?"

Emma nodded mutely.

Kid found some thin latex gloves and put them on. It was unlikely that Westward had been foolish enough to leave any fingerprints, but better to be safe than sorry. When he removed the stack of photographs a collective breath was exhaled by his fellow officers. They were not surprised to see them, but the familiarity of receiving them did not lessen the shock of the photos themselves. They were of Nan, which was also no surprise. But one look at the first photograph was enough to knock the air out of Ike completely. His complexion went green and he ran from the room. Several others looked as if they'd like to join him.

The photo was passed around. It showed Nan in the sitting room of her flat, a blindfold around her eyes, her wrists tied together and crossed behind her back. There was a man sitting beside her with his back to the camera. The man had black hair and wore a suit of impeccable design. His hand was resting on Nan's knee. Her expression was that of sheer panic. When the photograph reached Jimmy he was shaking with rage. The photo trembled in his hand.

"Jimmy...Jimmy, calm down." Louise put her arm around him. "Just breathe deep." But he shrugged her arm off.

"Don't tell me to _calm_ down, Lou. Look at this! The son of a bitch has Nan!" His voice broke. "He's got Nan..."

Sam leaned down and whispered to Emma. "Don't let him see the rest of these."

Emma closed her fingers around the stack of pictures that he had thrust into her grasp. She closed her eyes. "What are they?"

Groaning, Sam ran his fingers through his hair and tried to shake off the images he had just seen. "They show Nan, tied up, blindfolded, gagged, sitting in her own damn flat. Some of them are in a fancy sitting room. He's in some of them with her."

"He hasn't..." Emma couldn't finish the sentence.

Immediately he sensed what she was thinking. "I don't think that's what this is about, Emma. I think he's trying to scare us. Maybe he's trying to scare _her_."

"It's about more than that, Sam. Rachel said so-this is an obsession for him. He did the same to her years ago-followed her, threatened her, stole her away for weeks."

"But he let her go."

"Yeah, eventually. After he'd beaten her black and blue, after he'd scared her nearly out of her head...he let her go _then_, yeah."

"Did you see the letter, Sam?" O'Hara was holding a slip of paper out to the Chief Inspector.

"I'm afraid to take it."

"Read it, Sam."

All eyes were on him. The paper rustled like a dried leaf. Finally Sam found the will to make his voice work.

"'No doubt you will find these photographs of the lovely Inspector Kenworthy highly disturbing,'" he read. "'Perhaps as disturbing as I find it to be followed, to be photographed and videotaped against my will. I am tired of these games. I no longer wish to play cat and mouse. I am through with the members of the Hawkesworth Brokerage Firm. I have no need of them, nor do I have need of their meagre wealth. What's more, I really have no need of Inspector Kenworthy. She is quite pleasant to look at and certainly has a sharp mind, but it is not strictly necessary for me to retain the possession of her. How long I keep her and how well I take care of her depends entirely upon you. And by "you" I mean the lot of you: every worthless, thick-headed, blundering flatfoot among you. My patience has worn thin. Either leave me be or prepare yourself for the consequences.'"

Lifting his eyes from the paper, Sam looked at Jimmy. He was stricken, paralysed with fear. "He won't hurt her, Jimmy. He doesn't say he'll hurt her."

"He doesn't say _otherwise_, either, Sam!" argued Kid.

"He's murdered before, Sam," Jimmy said, finding his voice. "What's to stop him from doing it again? Nan's in his way, just like Eric Jeffries and everyone else he's murdered!"

Louise tried to reason with him as best she could. "But he-he _wants_ her. Right? Rachel said so. Why would he hurt her if he wants her?"

"Lou's right," Sam said. "Maybe this will be our saving grace. He's too fixated on her to want to hurt her. We won't rest until we find her. Nan's a fighter. She'll hold out till we find her. She'll wait for us. I know she will." He looked at the gathered officers. His words hung in the air for a moment and then faded away.

He had no way of knowing just how wrong he was.


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_I won't go_

_I won't sleep_

_I won't breathe_

_Until you're resting here with me_

"Here With Me" - Dido

* * *

_S_ometimes Nan imagined she could see light beyond the borders of the kerchief that was tied round her eyes. But that was impossible; she couldn't even lift her lids. The material was too tight against her face. It hurt at first, but now the pain had faded merely to a dull ache, persistent but somewhat easy to ignore. Even the cords that held her wrists firmly in place, cords that had seemed so constrictive at first, were now like pieces of slightly irritating jewellery she was being forced to wear. At least her arms were no longer tied behind her back.

The hours had passed by in slow blurs that hardly registered. She couldn't tell day from night. She could have been there weeks for all she knew to the contrary. In the stretches of time that beckoned mockingly to her, Nan thought back to all the Sherlock Holmes she had read in her younger years, remembering the great detective's awe-inspiring abilities at reason and deduction. Those skills would have come in handy at a time like this. Maybe she could have determined where they were in England by the type of gravel that had found its way into her shoe or by the smell of the types of flowers she had caught upon first entering this house. Sherlock Holmes would have known where he was by simply paying attention to the sound of the road and the turns of the car as it left her flat in London.

"I should have paid closer attention," she said aloud, or tried to say aloud. The heavy duct tape was still against her mouth. The moisture from her lips usually caused it to fall off after a while, but someone always came to put another one in its place. They had tried stuffing a cloth into her mouth as well, but she hadn't been able to breathe, so they had settled on the tape.

'I must be going mad,' she thought a moment later. 'Worrying about what Sherlock Holmes would have done at a time like this. Better to worry about what Anna Kenworthy should be doing instead.'

There was always someone in the room with her. She could feel the eyes on her at all times. Sometimes it was the man who smelled of cologne and gin; sometimes it was another man who coughed and cleared his throat habitually; occasionally it had been a woman, but she hadn't been with them since they had taken her away in the van the second time. Wherever they were now it was far away from where they had been. There were no more noises from within the house, no more servants heard bustling back and forth. This house was big and empty and silent. The silence was almost more than Nan could bear.

The two men had made a point of never speaking to, or around, her. At first Nan had assumed this was because they didn't want to give her the opportunity to identify their voices in the event that she was freed; but then she realised that it was more than that: they were afraid she'd recognise their voices. The realisation gave Nan chills. It meant that somehow she knew these men.

The many hours had been filled with emptiness. The room seemed to have no windows, for Nan never felt the sun on her skin at any point in the day. The men brought her food and water and she fed herself as best she could with her hands tied together and her eyes bound shut. Sometimes, in the interminable stretches of nothingness, Nan's mind would wander to Jimmy.

She had heard him in the house that day. And Cody, Ike, and Noah too. Their voices filtered down to the room where she was, a room obviously directly beneath them. Nan heard Jimmy's voice and hope flared inside of her. Her mouth had strained against the tape. She had been desperate to call to him, to cry out, "_Jimmy! I'm here! Please help me!_"

But then the woman had come downstairs-Nan could tell because the scent of her shampoo was suddenly thick in the air. She had another man with her. Not the coughing man or even the cologned man. And the woman had broken the rules and she had spoken in Nan's presence.

"We have to get her out of here!"

When the coughing man spoke, he was hesitant. He had a soft, hushed Welsh accent. He sounded timid in the woman's presence. "I don't think we ought to, Angie, not without- well, you know...not without him here."

"Listen to me, you bloody great fool-there are _police_ here. Four of them. They're searching the place. How long do you think it's going to be before they find this room? I can't tell them to stay away, they've got a court order."

"But Angie...!"

"Keep your voice down!" the woman hissed. "And stop saying my name."

"How do I get her out of here without them noticing?"

"First you knock her out. Where's the-?"

Suddenly the man was right next to Nan. "Right here," he said. He ripped the tape off her mouth with one great pull, but before Nan could do so much as shriek in pain, one big, meaty hand was around her throat, his free hand suddenly thrusting a heavily-chloroformed rag over her nose and mouth. Gasping in agony, she felt the heaviness sink into her lungs, smelled the thick, sickly scent of the chloroform, and then there was nothing.

When she had woken it had been to the sound of the van speeding over a bumpy road. She was laying down on a foul-smelling tarp. Her head pounded, throbbing with pain. "We're nearly there," the Welshman had said. At first Nan had thought he was speaking to her, but then another man spoke in agreement.

They had lifted her and carried her into this new place that smelled of fresh paint and cleaning detergents. Their footsteps echoed in the halls. And she had been here ever since then. Whenever 'then' was exactly.

The cologned man came to visit often. Sometimes he sat beside Nan and stroked her face or hair, sometimes he took her in his arms and kissed bits of her face, her nose, her forehead, her neck. Nan's skin burned where his lips had touched her. But she never moved from his touch or protested in the slightest. Not anymore. Not since that first time when she had turned away and he had made a horrible growling sound and struck her across the face, full-force, sending her head spinning. After that she simply took her mind away as best she could. So far the kisses and touches-unbearable though they were-were the extent of the man's attentions. She knew this was the man who had sent her the letters. This was the man who had taken the pictures and filmed her in her bedroom with Jimmy. This was the man who had threatened her family.

At some point, she wasn't sure when, she began to see Jimmy. His smile was so clear, and the way he shook his head in disgust when he found something she said particularly irritating, and the defiant tilt of his chin. Memories began to play in her mind and they were always of Jimmy. She couldn't stop them. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

_"Can we strike a deal, Inspector? Drop the 'lieutenant.' My name's James. My friends call me Jimmy."_

_"My friends call me Nan. But there's no point in that, is there, Lieutenant? We're not going to be friends...we're going to be co-workers." _

_"I've been dealing with you for a week, Kenworthy, and I've had it up to_ here."

_"You know, you're quite good-looking, Jimmy, for a yank." _

_"And by way of returning the compliment, I think you're the most adorable thing I've ever seen in those glasses." _

_"...I'd really like to kiss you, Jimmy." _

_"I'd like to kiss you too, Nan." _

_"You made me forget Lou...Nan, I think this is worth exploring...Last night was-come on, Nan, you_ know _what last night was." _

_"It was good of you to stop for me, Jimmy. Thank you." _

_"I beg your pardon? Was that an actual expression of_ thanks _coming from your lips?" _

_"Don't push your luck, Lieutenant." _

_"Just tell me, sweetheart." _

_"Stay with me tonight, Jimmy." _

_"You're incorrigible, Inspector, did you know that?" _

_"I have been told that a time or two." _

_"Just learn to let go. Just once in a while. Okay?"_

The click of the door opening jolted Nan from her reverie. She hadn't realised she'd been crying until a familiar hand connected with her cheek in a sharp crack. Her head spun and the opposite cheek bounced against the wall beside her.

"There will be no tears," the cologned man said.

They were the first words he had ever spoken to her, and in that moment Nan knew who he was. She knew he was Julian Westward.

* * *

_L_ouise was the only one who was able to convince Jimmy to take time to rest, and even she had to plead with him for over an hour. When he did finally agree to lay down on the sofa in the lounge, he couldn't fall asleep. He was more exhausted than he ever remembered being in all his years with the NYPD, and he still couldn't make himself close his eyes and sleep.

Lou looked up from the magazine she was reading. "Get some rest, Jimmy."

"I'm trying."

"You've been rolling around on that couch for the past five minutes."

He ignored her and tried to change the subject. "Is that official business you're catching up on there, Lou?" He pointed to the magazine cover, emblazoned with a large photo of two of England's biggest film stars attending the premiere of their latest movie.

"Ha ha." Louise jerked the magazine out of sight. "I just needed something to unwind. My head's so full of this case I can hardly see straight."

Jimmy could see the tension and stress in her tired brown eyes and the droop of her slim shoulders. Emma had ordered Louise to rest as well and he was glad. She was the only person who could calm him at a time like this.

"I can't stop thinking about her," he said.

"I know."

"I can't stop wondering where she is, how she's being treated, if she's hurt, if she's safe..."

"No one can answer those questions for you. You'll drive yourself crazy, Jimmy. You have to stop."

"But she could be anywhere!" Jimmy sat up rested his elbows on his knees, starting down at the floor between his feet. "He could be doing anything to her!" He shuddered.

Louise tossed the magazine aside and went to him, wrapping her arm around his bent shoulders. She rested her chin against him. "You can't think like this."

"I can't _help_ thinking like this!"

"You heard Sam-Nan's strong. She'll make it through this."

"You don't know her," Jimmy said. He was rubbing his palm with his thumb, over and over again, a monotonous gesture that showed how closely he was to the edge. "You don't know her like I do. She's so fragile."

A hint of a smile played around the corners of Louise's lips. "Are we talking about the same Nan Kenworthy?"

"Don't laugh at me, Lou. I know what I'm talking about." He sounded bitter and frustrated.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't know her like I do," he said again. "I know why she does the things she does, why she acts the way she does. Maybe no one else understands her, but I understand her. I care about her."

"Jimmy, you love her."

He wasn't surprised that Louise, of all people, had seen right through him. According to Cody everyone in the station knew he was crazy about Nan, but Louise had seen even deeper than that.

"I haven't known her long enough," he said weakly.

"You sound like her right now-'Oh, Louise, I've only known him such a short time.'"

He turned to look at her then. "You two have talked?"

"I've dragged a few things out of her. Nothing I'd share with _you_, of course."

"I don't know what to think about that."

"Think what you want."

"I didn't notice you getting so chummy with Rosemary when she and I were together."

Louise snorted in reply. "Very funny. You can't compare Rosemary Burke and Nan Kenworthy. That's like the difference between-"

"The sun and the moon?"

"I was going to say 'good and evil,' but that's fair."

Jimmy stared at her in surprise and then suddenly burst into laughter. Lou felt as if she had performed her good deed for the day. She reached forward and spontaneously threw her arms around him, hugging him as hard as she could.

"We'll find her, Jimmy. I know we will."

He felt his smile fade as quickly as it had appeared. He wanted to find comfort in Louise's words, but he couldn't. She had no guarantees. She couldn't promise that they would find Nan. No one could. He clutched at his friend's embrace and felt his throat burn with unshed tears.

"We won't let you lose her. I promise."

"How can I _lose_ her? She was never mine to begin with." He pulled away and sighed. "I just want to bring her back safely." He stood, shaking his head, disgusted with himself. "Look at me, sitting here doing nothing."

"You've been killing yourself over this for the past 72 hours! You deserve a _break_!"

"Not until we find her and bring her back. Don't you understand, Lou? I can't rest! I can't sit still because I just keep worrying about her! I _am_ going crazy!"

Weighing her options, Louise finally settled on acceptance. However much she begged or coaxed Jimmy, he wouldn't be able to rest. She might as well save herself the effort. But she hated to see him like this, so pale and haggard, already looking as if he'd lost ten pounds overnight. "All right," she relented. "I guess you can catch up on rest when we find her."

"_If_ we find her."

_"When."_


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_You shut your mouth  
How dare you say  
I go about things the wrong way?_

"How Soon is Now?" - the Smiths

* * *

_J_ulian Westward's office at the Hawkesworth Brokerage Firm was of an organisation that bordered on obsessive. There was not a folder out of place, not a stray paper clip or pencil to be found. Everything was in perfect order. Kid and Louise stood at the edge of the room and stared in.

"If I didn't know better I'd say the bastard was expecting us," Kid commented sarcastically.

Louise gestured to the office. "Look at this place! We'll be lucky if we find so much as a receipt from the dry cleaner's!"

They had moved into the office now, skulking around the room as if they did not have a court order giving them every right to be there. Louise tentatively pulled at a desk drawer. It opened without effort and she peered inside.

"Oh, he was expecting us all right," she said with a wry grin. She began opening the other drawers, slamming them shut again with impatience. "They're all empty."

Kid looked up from the file cabinet. His normally passive face registered a look of contempt. He tossed an empty folder onto the floor, then another, and then another. "Nothing in here, either."

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the string of muttered curses coming from Kid's mouth. Louise had slumped into the high-backed leather chair and was staring dismally out the window at the London skyline.

"We can't give up, Kid. There has to be _something_ here."

"Something? Lou, this is a whole lot of nothing!"

She looked at him, at the exhausted blue eyes that spoke of endless hours of work and frustration, the tired, drooping corners of his mouth, the dishevelled state of his hair and suit. Despite her intense worry and fear over Nan, Louise's heart swelled at the sight of him. He was so handsome and wonderful and _perfect_. She knew she loved him; it was a recent discovery, and she hadn't found the right moment to tell him yet. Not now, not when he was distraught over his friend's disappearance.

The look in her eyes beckoned him to her. When he reached her, she smiled at him and Kid thought he would keel over right where he stood. Was there ever any woman as lovely and amazingly perfect as she was? How was he going to bear it when she went back to America in a few short months? He reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face, stroking it between his fingertips. For some reason he thought of Jimmy, remembering an evening that seemed years ago, watching as he stopped to touch Nan's face and hair in much the same way that Kid himself was touching Lou's. The very real and sobering thought that Jimmy might never have that chance again struck Kid harshly for a moment. Looking into Lou's dark brown eyes, he couldn't fathom the thought of being in Jimmy's place.

Mesmerised by the gentle pressure of his hand, Lou caught the look on Kid's face. "What is it?"

He drew his breath in sharply. "I can't help thinking about Jimmy..."

"I'm worried about him too. I don't know what he'll do if we don't find her."

"Don't say that," he rebuked sharply.

She was immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry, I only meant-"

"I know," he assured her. He pulled her into his arms and felt her hands gather at his waist. "I know, Lou, I just keep thinking about what I would do if it were me. If _I_ were the one standing here helplessly and you had been taken away somewhere and I couldn't find you, no matter how hard I tried."

"I wouldn't do so well in Jimmy's place either," Louise replied shakily. "If you were the one in danger, Kid..." She let her voice trail off, her thoughts mirroring Kid's as she remembered countless moments when Jimmy had betrayed himself and clearly shown his feelings for Nan.

They were suddenly made aware of a presence in the doorway. A woman cleared her throat and knocked on the open door. "Excuse me, may I come in?" There was a small black box in her slender hands.

Kid and Louise eyed her suspiciously. They disentangled themselves from each other's arms and gazed at the blond woman in expensive peach silk. "Can we help you?"

She seemed to take that as her cue, and entered the office, slapping the black box down on the oak desk. "I understand you're the officers investigating Julian."

"Can we help you?" Kid asked again, carefully.

"I'm Renée Greer. I work here."

"I see."

"I'm also Julian Westward's lover." The bizarrely dramatic announcement, reminiscent of daytime soap operas, was met with blank stares from the two officers. Kid's mind flickered briefly to his first interview with Victoria Westward, her careless shrug..._He said he was working late at the office. But I would assume he was with his mistress_.

Louise had stepped closer to Renée Greer and was inspecting her with a carefully trained eye. "Is there a reason you've come to see us, Ms Greer?"

The other woman's large, forest-green eyes filled with sudden tears. She picked up the box again and tried to catch her breath. "He-he gave me this before he left. Told me to keep it safe for him. It wasn't anything important, he said, but then I looked..." She broke off and swore under her breath. "The bastard." She lifted her head defiantly. "I'm not going to stand by and let him walk all over me. You can have this. I'm through protecting him."

Lou could feel her fingers itching to take the box from Renée Greer, but she composed herself. "What's in it?"

A horrible, strangled sob escaped Renée's lips. "Papers drawn up for some house he bought in Berkshire...some cash...and photos-photos of this _woman-_"

But Kid and Louise had only focused on the first item mentioned. They advanced still closer to Renée Greer, the light of hope flaring in their eyes. Trying not to frighten her, Kid reached for the box. She handed it to him wordlessly.

"A house, did you say? In Berkshire?" He tried to sound calm.

"Yes," she sniffed. "He's probably there now, with that-with that _tart_ and her long legs and stringy brown hair and her-"

Renée Greer watched in amazement as the two officers almost literally ripped the box open. Lou's small hands were like lightning as they searched through the box. At last her fingers closed around a very legal-looking document. "Aha!" she cried. The box clattered to the floor and she read the contract, Kid peering over her shoulder.

**The undersigned first party, Parker J Hurley, hereby relinquishes all rights and responsibilities to the ownership of Covington Manor, Berkshire, to the undersigned second party, Julian Arthur Westward, in the sum of 750,000 pounds. The following documents pertain to the release of said rights and responsibilities. Signed this day, 30 September 1999.**

Julian Westward and Parker Hurley had signed the contract, as well as Renée Greer and Nigel Atherton. There were at least fifteen pages worth of legal jargon left to read, but there was no need. Kid's face was shining and matched perfectly with the expression on Lou's. Lou slipped the document into her satchel.

"Got you, you bastard."

* * *

_"Y_ou know who I am, don't you?"

The sound of a camera clicking away echoed in the otherwise still room. Nan tried to turn her head, tried to hide her face in her hands, but Westward only moved her so that she couldn't, pinning her wrists together in his powerful hand. He knelt beside her on the floor, one knee pressed deeply into her side.

"Tsk tsk, don't try and hide that pretty face." Nan felt hands stroking her dirty, matted hair. "Now, I asked you a question, Anna. You will be so good as to answer it, won't you?"

Nan debated not answering. She didn't want to give in. But what was the point of fighting? There was nothing to gain by not answering his question. He would know the truth anyway. She nodded.

"Clever girl." Hard lips scraped a kiss across her cheek. "Now smile pretty for the camera."

Nan couldn't even tell where the camera was. The shutter was opening and closing with such fierce alacrity that the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere. Her lips were dry and cracked, stinging against the glue from the duct tape. The cords around her wrists had rubbed so deeply into her skin that she had to fight back a whimper of pain every time she moved. If she had ever been left alone for more than two seconds she would have removed the blindfold and let her eyes adjust to the light once more. But she was never left alone.

"All right, that's enough," ordered Westward. "Leave us alone."

Footsteps resonated throughout the tiny room and then the door was shut, and Nan and Westward were left alone. She could hear him pacing before her, could smell his cologne in waves as he passed by. She quaked inwardly each time his foot thudded onto the floor.

"Now, Inspector, what _am_ I to do with you?" He paused. "Oh dear, you can't answer me, can you? Well, so much the better." His voice lowered into a tone of pleasure. "I have so much I'd like to share with you, Anna. Oh, you don't mind if I call you 'Anna,' now do you? So much prettier than 'Nan.'"

The words were tinged with lunacy, but his voice sounded perfectly calm and reasonable. Nan shuddered.

Noticing this, Westward paused. "You're cold, aren't you darling? Stuck away here in this nasty, cold room, wearing nothing but that ghastly t-shirt. I never pegged you as a fan of The Who, darling. I never was myself. Still, you do look rather lovely in it, I must admit. I can't believe neither of us thought to bring you a jumper or something. Well, never mind."

There were muffled movements for a moment and then a heavy blazer with silk lining was draped around Nan's shoulders. She jumped away from it as if it were on fire. She had spent the last however many days shivering, longing for warmth, but she could not wear something of Julian Westward's. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled so strongly of his cologne. She shrugged it off till it fell around her on the floor.

Westward had watched in silence. Realising this, Nan was stricken once more with fear. She rested her back against the cold wall, feeling the crisp October air seeping in through the cracks, touching her body through the thinness of her t-shirt. She sensed Westward approaching her. His palm rested on her forehead, fingers curling in her hair. Without warning, he slammed her head back against the wall with a wordless, guttural exclamation.

Red hot pain flashed into Nan's head. Her eyes watered behind the kerchief. Her head began to throb. She dropped her face into her hands and wept. It was dangerous to cry-her breathing became shallow and uneven and she couldn't breathe through the tape. But the pain was so incredible she couldn't help it. All the training she had received at the Met centre on how to handle yourself if you were a hostage, how not to panic, how to read the captor and his motivations-all of that had flown straight out of her head the minute she had realised she was in the presence of Julian Westward.

When he spoke again, he seemed to be crouching directly in front of her.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded. "Why didn't you take the coat? I gave it to you because I wanted you to be warm." Fingers pulled at the edges of the tape, ripping it off with angry passion. Pain seared through Nan's lips. He grabbed her by the chin, tightly, his fingers hard. She could smell whiskey on his breath. "Answer me, dammit!"

Nan opened and closed her mouth, to no avail. She couldn't form any words. Instead she gave a dry, rattling cough and felt her breath rasping uncomfortably against her throat.

"By God, you will answer me!" he roared, and he moved his fingers to join together around her neck. His thumbs pressed into the base of her throat till she choked.

"Jesus, Julian, you'll bloody well kill her!" It was the Welshman, bounding into the room with urgency. Julian's arms were pulled away and Nan could hear both men panting heavily as Julian struggled.

"Let _go_ of me!"

"Don't hurt her, Julian. We'll never get anywhere if you hurt her. Christ, we'll be lucky if they recognize her after what you've done to her already."

"If I could hurt her as much as she's hurt me-"

"She hasn't hurt you. What the devil are you on about?"

"Skulking about with that pathetic little American-"

"Julian!"

There was no further reply from Westward.

"I think you need a rest, Julian. Go on, then, I'll see to her."

"Put the tape back on her, Rhees. I don't want the little bitch to get one breath more than she deserves."

Nan waited in silence, heart hammering. She heard the restless stirrings of the Welshman, and a moment later, he said, "It's all right, love, he's gone."

She bit her lip, feeling the sharp pressure of her teeth on the tender skin there. Her mouth was parched.

The Welshman's voice was kind. "Would you like some water, then?"

Afraid, Nan didn't reply.

"It's all right," he said again. "You can talk, I won't hurt you."

"Yes," she whispered. It was the first word she had spoken in nearly four days. She could barely manage to make herself heard. The pain was unbearable.

Then a mug of cold water was lifted to her dry lips. The taste of it was something Nan was sure she wouldn't ever forget. The cool sweetness filled her mouth and poured down her throat. She drank greedily, and the Welshman carefully wiped away the water that had dribbled down her chin.

"Better now?"

She nodded.

"You don't want to provoke him like that, you know," he advised. "He's got a nasty temper, Julian does."

"I hadn't noticed," Nan croaked in response.

The Welshman laughed appreciatively. "You're a clever little minx, aren't yeh? I can see why he's taken such a fancy to you." The notion repelled her. She must have made a face because the Welshman chuckled again. "The thought isn't pleasant to you, is it?"

"No." Even the smallest words made her wince as they scratched across her throat.

"He's very taken with you, Inspector. Said so first time he saw you. Told me all about you: colour of your hair, shape of your lips, length of your legs. He doesn't miss much, does Julian."

Nan had no reply for that. The very idea that Westward had any interest in her disgusted her.

"He says you have a bloke. S'that true?"

"That's none of your affair." Her voice was getting stronger now.

"No, that's true enough." He sighed. "Anyway, it doesn't matter much now. I'm not sure what he's planning on doing with you, but I don't think he's in any hurry to hand you over to Lieutenant Hickok."

Nan's head flew up. "How do you know about Lieutenant Hickok?"

There was a heavy pause. "Well...I followed you, didn't I?"

"What?"

"Well, Westward need someone to-"

More footsteps. Nan heard them before the Welshman did. One thing she had noticed was that her hearing had grown more acute; she was intensely aware of every scuffle upstairs, every footfall around her, every breath her captor exhaled.

"Why isn't the tape on her as I instructed, Rhees?"

"Ehm...just wanted to give her a drink of water, that's all."

"Well, she's had it; now do as you've been told."

Nan heard the creaking sound of the tape being pulled off the roll and then there was the now-familiar sensation of the tape against her mouth. The Welshman patted it closer and then drew back.

Westward was spitting venom. "What do you think this is, Rhees, the dramatic dénouement to a James Bond film? You have a casual chat and tell poor, abducted Anna about how she was followed and why, all about our master plan to take over the world? You're pathetic," he sneered. "If there are any great revelations to be made here, they will be made by _me_, do you understand?"

"Yes, of course Julian. I only thought-"

"That's just it, Rhees; I don't _pay_ you to think. I pay you to do as I say. You will be so good as to remember that, won't you?"

There was no reply of affirmation. Nan listened helplessly. She waited as Julian crouched down before her again. "Now you listen to me, Inspector Kenworthy, and you listen well." His voice dripped with frenzied rage. "I am fully prepared to do whatever it takes to be rid of you should it come to that. Your pretty face isn't going to count for much in the end. Lieutenant Hickok doesn't want you now, he certainly won't want you when I'm done with you."

Nan froze at the words. She wanted to shout at him that it wasn't true, that Jimmy _did_ want her, but she couldn't say a word, and she had the horrible sinking feeling that Westward could be right. Then she tried to shake the thought away; she wasn't going to play into Westward's hands.

"It's true," he continued, as if he had read her thoughts. "I've made calls to the nick and spoken to him myself. It's business as usual for our young Lieutenant Hickok. He doesn't appear to be overly concerned with your sudden disappearance. I imagine he had his bit of fun with you and he's moved on. Perhaps he'll even reacquaint himself with his feelings for the lovely Lieutenant McCloud now that you're out of the picture."

The bastard. How did he know? Nan's eyes burned with tears. His fingertips wiped them away. His incongruity frightened her more than anything: one moment he was trembling with fury and the next he was as tender as a lover. She felt his touch as he continued to stroke her face. Her skin crawled at the sensation.

"I'm rather fond of you myself," he said, his voice going soft and dreamy. "I could make you very happy, Anna. _Very_ happy. I could take you places-Rome, Paris, New York. I'm partial to Australia myself. Have you ever been to Adelaide? It's a lovely place, much more agreeable than Sydney. I could take you there if you like. How about it, Anna, hmm? No more slushing through wet London winters; no more filthy tube stations; you wouldn't have to work like a slave at a low-paying job, protecting people who hate you for doing it; there wouldn't be any more frantic phone calls from Granddad wondering how you are. It would be a whole new world, Anna, a whole new life. For you and me. We'd have the best of everything. I'll take care of you. We could leave tonight." And his lips dropped to pull playfully at her earlobe, to graze along the soft line of her jaw.

There was no way to answer him, not with words, not with a look. And Nan was so desperate to get away, so frightened and repulsed by his very presence, that there was no way she could do anything but what she did next: reaching up, her wrists still bound together, she pushed at his chest until he fell backward. It was a gentle push; if Westward had been on his guard he would have seen the move coming. But he hadn't, and the short, staccato burst of laughter from Rhees didn't improve his mood.

With every ounce of energy he could muster, Julian pulled back, one arm extended behind him. "You really shouldn't have done that," he whispered.

The last thing she felt was the hard crack of his hand against her cheek. The last thing she saw was darkness.


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

_I kissed her goodbye, said "All beauty must die"_

_And I leant down and planted a rose between her teeth_

"Where the Wild Roses Grow" - Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

* * *

_"I_ won't hurt you, Inspector."

Rhees Carter had never intended to end up like this: lonely, overweight, balding, and miserable, helping a madman on his destructive path to freedom. Of course, he couldn't do much about being bald, but he certainly could have done something long ago about his remaining lot in life. It seemed to him that he had simply fallen into this way of life. It had started with taking a few quid from his mother's purse to pay for beer. That had turned into nicking cars to pay for drugs, which had led to time in prison, which had led to friendships and acquaintanceships with all sorts of unsavoury characters; which had led him, eventually, through many narrow, winding paths of general criminal behaviour, to the doorstep-figuratively speaking-of Julian Westward.

Westward was gone just now and Rhees was tending to Inspector Kenworthy. She looked to be at death's door; every breath she took was desperate and ragged, every exhalation a victory hard won. He had removed the kerchief around her eyes for a moment in order to replace it with a new one, and was shocked and sickened by the state of her eyes-puffy and faintly pink, swollen from her tears, the left eyelid battered by Julian's fist. Rhees carefully washed away the dirt and grime on her pale face and blindfolded her once more.

Trying his best to be gentle, Rhees lifted Nan from her position on the cold stone floor. Her arms hung limply before her, still bound by the cords. Her head lolled back from her neck, her hair hanging like a curtain behind her. He applied ointment to the cuts that ran along her cheeks, softly stroking the purple bruises on her face and neck. "Poor little girl," he murmured to himself.

He hated himself for his glaring inconsistencies-his willingness to go along with Julian's schemes, his passivity as Julian had beaten the girl, and yet this overwhelming pity he felt for those who got in Julian's way.

In between his ministrations, he thought of Westward. He had been involved with the man and his schemes for too long to back out now; he had not only aided and abetted in them, he had also profited from them. The £500,000 currently sitting in a London bank in an account under his name would see to it that not only was he comfortably settled for a few years, but also that he was quite _un_comfortably linked with Westward in the eyes of the law. It seemed to Rhees that he had fallen into a pit that he was unlikely to find a way out of, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. And now an innocent young girl, a girl whose very life had been devoted to doing the right thing and helping others, had been dragged into this. He didn't dare make a move to double-cross Westward-he had lost his only brother that way-but Rhees' heart went out to Nan.

'But just look at her,' he thought, 'the poor little minx. All bunged up and barely breathing.' He knew several of her ribs were bruised, if not broken, and that she was dehydrated and half-starved. Blood had dried at the edges of her mouth, soiling the tape, and Rhees had removed it, despite what Julian had instructed. She was barely recognisable as the fresh-faced, bright-eyed beauty he and Nigel had followed for the past few weeks. He could still remember watching her as she walked down the steps of the tube station, with that purposeful, confident stride.

A soft moan escaped from Nan's cracked lips.

"There, there now," soothed Rhees. "It's all right. I've got you."

Stirring again, her mouth formed a word in a muted whisper.

"What's that, then?" He leaned closer. She whispered again. It sounded like 'Benny' or 'Jimmy.' Probably Jimmy. Wasn't her young American bloke called James?

Rhees remembered Julian's rage when he had shown him the photos of Nan leaving the pub that night with Lieutenant Hickok. The cruel eyes had darkened to black, his cheeks had flushed purplish-red. Rhees had been completely unprepared for this reaction. Even now he remembered Westward's voice trembling as he fought to gain some semblance of control. 'I want to know who he is,' he had said, 'and what he's got to do with Anna Kenworthy.'

Rhees heard footsteps. In his haste to re-tie the cloth once more around the Inspector's eyes, Rhees didn't realise Julian was in the room until it was too late.

"That won't be necessary," Julian said coolly.

Rhees turned around, guilt in his eyes. "Sorry, Julian, I was just-"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Rhees asked, coughing nervously.

"I mean it matters very little if Inspector Kenworthy sees our faces. She won't long be in a position to make much use of the information."

Fear coursed through Rhees's veins like icy water. There was a look in Julian's gaze that would have made a lesser man quake in frightened anticipation. He settled Nan back onto the floor and stood over her, facing Julian as firmly as he could. 'Steady on, Carter,' he instructed himself. 'Don't let him see you're frightened.'

"What are you planning on doing with her?"

Julian snorted. "What difference does it make to you?"

"She's only a girl!" Despite his intentions, panic had crept into Rhees's voice. He gestured to the gaunt figure between them. "Just let her go, Julian. You've got money-you've got contacts! Just leave the country and let her go!"

Julian regarded his employee with contempt. Rhees had long since outlived his usefulness, but it would be rather messy dealing with two bodies at this point. "If I didn't know better, Carter, I'd say you'd got positively _fond_ of the girl."

Rhees flushed scarlet. He knew Westward was only trying to get his goat, but he had succeeded. "I just...I feel badly for her, that's all."

"How very sweet," Julian clucked insincerely.

Trying another tactic, Rhees said, "But I thought you fancied her, Julian! You wouldn't want to hurt her, would you?" The moment the words died on his lips Rhees realised the ridiculousness of this statement. Julian had no qualms when it came to hurting the girl-wasn't her face black and blue at this very moment? "We don't have to hurt her," he protested weakly.

Julian stood and began to pace the length of the room, pausing periodically to glance down at Nan's limp, unconscious form. "She's of no use to me, really. I was naïve to think taking her would get the coppers off my back. I underestimated her importance to them."

"But we don't have to..._hurt_ her."

The bark of laughter that issued from Westward after Rhees's statement made the Welshman flinch.

"Now who's being naïve? My intentions toward Inspector Kenworthy are far less altruistic than merely _hurting_ her, Rhees, surely you've realised _that_."

"I just don't see why-"

"Of course you don't. There's no need for you to," Julian replied sharply. "None of this is anything to do with you, Rhees, you're merely here to do a job. It should matter very little-very little indeed-what happens to Inspector Kenworthy."

It was amazing; Rhees was open-mouthed at this change in Westward. The consuming passion the man had shown for Nan was gone. In its place was cold, calculating indifference. It really shouldn't have been a surprise to see; more than once he had borne witness to Westward's abrupt change of emotion, but Rhees was nonetheless startled. It was as if the preceding weeks of careful planning and strategising had never happened, as if he had never lusted after the young inspector, never ignited in rage over the thought of her with another man. She had become merely a liability to him, and Rhees feared for Anna Kenworthy's life.

"She knows who we _are_," Julian was saying. "Do you doubt that she would use it against us? All she has to do is identify _me_, my friend, and it's curtains for _you_. The police pull up a record of my past associates, Nan points out your accent and remembers your name, and before you know it you're sporting a lovely pair of handcuffs and making friends with your new cellmate."

Rhees shuddered at the picture Westward was painting and pulled nervously at the collar of his shirt. He didn't fancy the idea of prison, not even for a nice young girl like Inspector Kenworthy.

Sensing the man's internal dilemma, Julian immediately acted on it. He went to Rhees and put a condescendingly sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It won't be the first time, will it?" he reminded him. "Look at it as a necessary evil, a minor drawback to the job." Rhees's shoulders relaxed slightly and Julian sensed this as well. He let a smile creep into his voice, a comfortable, nonchalant smile. "Once we're rid of the Inspector, you and I can go on our merry ways. We each take a share of the cash-a slightly larger share for me, of course-and we leave the country. You once told me you've been longing to see Hawaii; well by all means, seize the moment, Rhees. As the Americans say, let's get the hell out of Dodge."

The reference was completely lost on Rhees but he nodded as if mesmerised. "Hawaii," he murmured, thinking of a life on his own, with some cash set aside, free from Julian and his demands. It was a tremendously appealing thought and Rhees could not deny its attraction. Then some internal moral switch clicked on just as quickly and the clouded look in his eyes was gone. He shook his head. "No, I can't agree with this, Julian. I just can't."

Julian backed away and thrust a hand deep in the pocket of his overcoat. He shook his head. "What a shame. Yes indeed, what a shame."

He waited until Rhees's back was turned before withdrawing the gun and firing. The stocky Welshman crumpled to the ground, and he lay there, his blood seeping from his head, trickling down the slightly inclined floor to weave in Nan's hair.

Julian looked at the body in disgust. "You and your noble ideas," he grumbled. "You know, I really hated to do that, Carter. You really are a soft-hearted bastard, aren't you?" He paused to chuckle. "Well, not any longer. More soft-headed, really."

The gun swinging in the loop of his forefinger and thumb, Julian went over to inspect Nan's limp form. Crouching down beside her, he swept a hand over her face, brushing dirty, matted hair away. Her eyes flitted softly beneath translucent lids. Her full lips parted to breathe a name. Staring at her, Julian was struck at the strange complexities of his own heart. It wasn't two days ago that he had been completely enamoured by this woman, ready to fight for her, ready to kill for her. The very sight of her dark blue eyes had caused his stomach to constrict painfully; her nearness had excited him to a frenzy.

And now...now he felt nothing. Nothing but a bit of contempt and irritation at his previous infatuation with her. "Ah well," he murmured to himself. "We all make mistakes."

It had been much the same with his previous wives, and more so with Rachel than with any of them. From the moment he had seen her tousled blond waves and curvaceous figure, heard her smoky laughter in his ears, he had been consumed by the need to possess her. The infatuation had actually lasted a considerable length of time, but had dissipated eventually. As it had now, with Anna Kenworthy. He could no longer summon even the faintest traces of longing for her. The curve of her full, soft pink lips no longer moved him in the slightest. He could not pinpoint the exact moment this transformation had taken place in his heart, but she was merely excess baggage now, and excess baggage was to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

He had to hand it to her, she had been clever; as had her lover, the increasingly irritating James Hickok. They had simply not been clever enough.

Julian rose again, stretching out his tense limbs. He watched the slow, painstaking rise and fall of Nan's chest, took in her bare white arms and tattered clothes, her dark hair snarled and filthy, the bruises colouring her otherwise pale skin.

"Look at it this way," he said to her as if in reply, "in this state you probably wouldn't make it much longer, anyway."

And then he lifted the gun once more and pointed it down at the body of Anna Kenworthy.

* * *

_J_ohan Skarsgård was exploring the London nightlife. He had been in the city for three weeks now and no matter how many times he ventured out in the evening he always found something new and exciting each time. Pretty girls, great night-clubs, good food. His Swedish accent was intriguing here, not merely commonplace. For the first time in his life Johan felt different, exotic, interesting.

The vodka here was terrible, never Russian, but they had good gin. Johan had drunk rather a lot of it by the time he stumbled his way home after a night of clubbing. The cold air hit his face sharply and his eyes swam a bit from the alcohol, and so he would have missed the body if he had not tripped over it.

He hit the ground with a loud thud, face first, feeling the pavement against his nose immediately. He swore loudly in Swedish and crawled unsteadily to his feet, swaying where he stood. The fall had cleared his vision somewhat and he whirled around angrily, looking for the cause of his accident. He saw a figure half-concealed in the shadows.

"What do you think you are _doing_?" he yelled fiercely. "You crazy English idiot! You do not lay on ground in person's way! I nearly killed myself!"

There was no response from the figure. Johan gave one leg a swift kick.

"You should be answering me, you fool!" he cried.

There was still no response and Johan's anger subsided. His brain was clearing too and he was beginning to realise that there could very well be something wrong with this person. "Hello? Are you all right?" He crept closer toward the figure. It had a woman's shape. "Ma'am? Are you all right? I am not going to hurt you; I can be helping you. Ma'am?"

His fingers closed around a bare arm. It was cold, not pulsing with life. His skin crawled but the rapidly sobering Johan continued with steely resolve. He put his free hand on the figure's waist and tried to drag it out. It was a woman; she was tall, but built slightly and despite her thin frame seemed to weigh a ton. When Johan had pulled her out under the glare of the street lamp, he knew immediately that she was dead.

Someone had beaten this woman within an inch of her life; she was virtually covered in cuts and bruises. Her clothes were torn and dirty. Johan physically recoiled as he looked at her, but even he could see that she had once been lovely. Tears filled his eyes and his words poured forth in Swedish. "_Arma människa_," he wept. Poor wretch! He took one slender wrist in his hand and checked its pulse to no avail.

Suddenly nausea swept over Johan and he dropped the woman's body back on to the pavement, bowing his head over the grass to vomit again and again. Finally able to contain himself, he swiped at his mouth and assessed the situation as best he could. He had to look for the woman's identification. Not that the bastard who had done this would have left her with anything.

To his surprise Johan found a wallet in the woman's pocket. It was empty save a badge that identified her as a member of the London Metropolitan Police Force. He stared at the picture of the woman on the badge: vivid blue eyes, a hint of humour around her soft mouth, though her expression was serious. She had been young and vibrant once, and someone had taken that from her.

It was only then that Johan noticed where he was. In his earlier, inebriated state it had not even registered that he was in front of the Uxbridge Police Station. He was in fact not more than fifty yards away. 'What a sick bastard,' he thought. This was no coincidence.

He looked down at the woman the badge had identified as Detective Inspector Anna Kenworthy. The cold wind stirred her hair. He had an insane urge to wrap his coat around her, to protect her from the elements, to do _something_ for her. And then he reminded himself that the only thing he could do for her was give her family peace of mind. He had never believed that no news was better than good news. It was best to let her people know.

Leaving her behind, Johan crossed the street, wiping away the tears on his face. He darted inside and rang the bell at the front desk. A fresh-faced young PC came from the back room and smiled pleasantly at Johan.

"What can I help you with, sir?"

"Please, I find...I found..." Johan choked on the words, his English failing him momentarily.

The smile slipped from the PC's face. "Yes, sir?"

Johan's eyes watered again. "I found..._kropp_...that is, body...outside _polisstation_."

"A body?" echoed the PC.

"Yes, a body. Woman's body. Very badly hurt." No, that was wrong. He cursed himself. "Dead, sir. She is dead."

PC Briggs stared at Johan. "Dead? Are you sure?"

Johan nodded. "She has no…" he struggled for the word, then gave up and tapped his wrist to indicate what he meant. "Nothing there, you see."

"No pulse, do you mean?"

"_Ja_, pulse. She has no pulse."

"Was there any ID on her?"

"Please-what is 'ID'?"

"Identification, sir. Was there any identification on her?"

"You mean...photograph, something like that?"

"Yes, sir." By now two more officers had joined PC Briggs-one was a weathered-looking man, the other a sharp-eyed woman.

"_Ja_, she had this on her." Johan slipped the badge through the partition, belatedly realising that he should not have touched the object lest the real culprit's fingerprints be on it.

DI Flavin lifted the badge and looked at it. He let out a low curse. "Christ. It's Kenworthy."

Next to him Chief Inspector Burrows gasped and snatched the ID from the inspector's hand. She groaned. "It is," she said, as if she could not believe it until she had seen it for herself. She looked at Johan through subdued eyes. "And-you're _sure_, are you? You're certain this is the woman whose body you found?"

Understanding her desire for it not to be true, Johan nodded painfully. "I am certain."

DCI Burrows laid the badge down. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and closed her eyes. "I suppose I'll have to be the one to call Shannon's group."

Briggs was looking down in respectful silence. He had never met DI Kenworthy, but news of her abduction had spread quickly throughout the force. She had been a well-liked, well-respected officer, a part of the elite AMIT.

Flavin cleared his throat. "And where is she, Mister-?"

"Skarsgård. Johan Skarsgård."

"Where is the body, Mr Skarsgård?"

"Just over there." Johan indicated across the street.

"Well, we'll need to keep you here, Mr Skarsgård. For questioning, you understand."

"Of course."

"Will you come with us please, to show us where you found her?"

Irene Burrows watched as the three men exited the station, sinking down on the chair behind her, resting one hand on the phone, unwilling to pick up the receiver yet, unwilling to make that phone call. She was unable to reconcile herself to the fact that the search was over. The days of worry and fear over Anna Kenworthy could now be put to rest. Surely that could be some consolation.

And then Irene thought to her involvement with the AMIT, the close-knit, tight bonds amongst the detectives on the team, Emma Shannon's motherly ways. She thought of Hastings, Turner, Fields, and Lillard, who would get the news of their friend and fellow officer's death from thousands of miles away in New York City. She thought of McSwain and Kidwell and the close bond they had always shared with Kenworthy, and Dixon teasing her, Langley hugging her to bring a smile to her face. She remembered Anna Kenworthy's fierceness, her tenacity, the wisdom she possessed that was beyond her years, and the vulnerability she showed when she least intended it. Irene sighed deeply. Another bright light snuffed out before its time, another promising future gone.

Running a shaky hand through her hair, Irene at last picked up the phone and dialled the Ladbroke Grove incident room. After one ring it was picked up.

"Incident Room. McSwain."

"McSwain, it's DCI Burrows in Uxbridge. I need to speak to Superintendent Shannon. It's urgent."

"She's on the phone just now."

"Well, get her off."

"I think she's on with Superintendent Alcott, ma'am, so I don't know if I can-"

"I don't care if she's on with the Queen Mother herself, McSwain; _get_ her off the _phone_."

"Yes, ma'am."

In other circumstances DCI Burrows would have been miffed at McSwain's attitude, to say the least. But now she could only pity him, imagining his reaction when he learned of the death of his friend.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

_There's no chance for us_

_It's all decided for us_

_The world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_

"Who Wants to Live Forever" - Queen

* * *

_T_here were no sounds coming from the Ladbroke Grove incident room. For once the phones were absolutely silent. Traffic outside seemed to have stilled, or faded away altogether. The fax machines were quiet, the ticking of the clock was muted. Even the air seemed to have stopped circulating and lay dormant, unmoving.

Emma Shannon looked upon the faces of her young officers-McCloud, Cody, O'Hara, Langley, Dixon...on and on down the line. Each face mirrored the shock of the other, each pair of eyes held an unbearable measure of slowly dawning grief. At last Emma had to look away, to close her eyes and try to deal with her own pain.

Iain Langley was the first to speak. It was surreal to see his normally ebullient face pulled tight into misery. He cleared his throat quietly. "How did she...how did she die?"

Emma flinched at the question. Her own reply was shaky at best. "DCI Burrows said she was shot twice in the chest, once in the head-although that bullet only grazed her. She also had multiple contusions around her face and neck, probably her torso as well, they haven't checked. They're leaving the body where they found it until forensic shows up."

"Don't call her 'the body,'" Noah spoke up bitterly. "She's not an 'it.' She's not just some case, either. You can't dismiss her as 'the body.' She was our _friend_."

His words hit Emma like a sharp pain. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just..." She couldn't finish. It would be so difficult to put into words what was in her heart just now; that it was easier, somehow, to distance herself from Nan by using such words. She had never lost an officer before, it was almost incomprehensible. She waited for an acknowledgement from Noah but received none. He was staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

"I can't believe this," murmured Louise. She looked at Emma, tears in her eyes, lips trembling. "And they identified her as Nan?"

Emma swallowed hard. "Yes. Tim Flavin ID'd her; said there was no question about it."

"We were so close," Ike said. "That day in Surrey...we were so close." He stared helplessly at Emma.

She went to him and drew him into her arms, resting her chin on his head. "Hush now. None of that," she chided in a choked voice. "We can't be thinking like that. It's no one's fault but the bastard that did it."

Suddenly Lou's hand flew up to her mouth and she gasped, tears filling her dark brown eyes. "Jimmy. Oh God, how do we tell Jimmy?"

Buck shook his head. "He's halfway to Berkshire by now. It's not news you can give over the phone."

Lou wept, tears brimming over, spilling down her face, clustering on her thick lashes. "And what about Kid? He loved her! And Emerson? And Pete? And…oh God, what about her _family_?"

Silence fell once more. Ike had dropped into a chair, his head hanging down. Noah was shaking his head as if to ward off the images that plagued him. Jason Albarn seemed stricken, standing like a statue. Though the tears were beginning to pour and the words beginning to finally sink in and find a place in reality, it was almost impossible for anyone to fully comprehend Nan's death.

In their world, where the threat of danger was always so near and constant, where the stress and pressure of day-to-day life was often overwhelming, it was a given that police officers would form tight, intricate ties that were as close as that of any blood relation. Trust was established, routines and patterns were formed, and while it would have been naïve and simplistic to claim that they were one big, happy family, they _were_ a family nonetheless; perhaps closer. It was difficult to say that one could trust one's life with a family member, but when it came down to co-workers, there was not an officer present who would have hesitated to place their life in the hands of another member of their team. Years of working together had proven that when it came right down to it, they could count on each other.

There were strong, invisible threads connecting each man and woman, connections of duty and loyalty and respect. These connections had always seemed to strengthen the group, but now that one of the ties had been severed, the fragility of the team seemed somehow tangible. The careful structure Emma Shannon had spent so long building up was falling apart before her very eyes.

"I've spoken with Superintendent Alcott," she said slowly. "He's absolutely distraught." In the five minutes Emma had managed to snatch between the phone call from Burrows and this gathering of her officers, Alcott had completely taken her by surprise, dropping his cool exterior at long last and mourning for Anna Kenworthy. "He wants us all to go home for the day and take tomorrow off."

Lou looked up in a mixture of surprise and trepidation. "I don't want to go back to the hotel alone," she whispered. She felt Buck's arm slide across her back. She leaned against it, grateful for its warmth.

"I'll stay with you, Lou," he said.

She made a low murmur of thanks and closed her eyes briefly, a sudden image of Nan in her mind's eye, Nan with that narrow gaze of determination, her unwillingness to be seen as weak. What was it Jimmy had said? _'You don't know her like I do. She's so fragile.'_ Oh, God. She couldn't bear to imagine Jimmy's reaction. Would he grieve, or would the news make him bitter? Whatever his reaction, Lou mourned as much for Jimmy's heartbreak as for the loss of Nan.

Emma was wiping her eyes fiercely with a kerchief. "Sam's gone to Uxbridge to meet with forensic, and I-I've arranged to stop by Will Kenworthy's house." She paused, tears starting anew. "I think..." she gasped, trying desperately to regain control. "I think he knows already, the poor old fellow...I think he knows."

"Would you like someone to go with you?" asked Roddy O'Hara. "Maybe me or Iain? One of the blokes that knows Nan's family well?

"That would be good. Yes, that's a good idea."

"I'll go," volunteered Iain. "I can handle Will. I like the old geezer, actually." He sighed heavily.

Cody once more broached the topic they had been loath to discuss. "How do we tell Kid and Jimmy?" he asked tentatively.

No one seemed to want to answer. If the news had hit them like a bolt of lightning, they knew it was nothing compared to what Hickok and Kidwell-the two officers closest to Nan-would feel upon learning of her death. Kid would be crushed; Nan had been his friend since their days at the training centre, and throughout their years working together they could always be seen in one another's company, laughing and carrying on like siblings, jostling each other in the hallways as if back in grade school. They had shared a sweet, affectionate friendship, one they knew that Kid relied on. And now it was over. As for Jimmy-no one was even brave enough to imagine how Jimmy would feel. The only word that came to mind was 'devastated.'

And who was to tell them?

Everyone was staring at Emma as if waiting for further instruction. Gone was the confidence of old, days when they would have struck out on their own, each planning a separate course of action. Now, with this news that had hit each of them so hard, they were like brand new PCs fresh out of the training centre, afraid of making a wrong move. Emma had only given them the news ten minutes before and already she felt the effect as if it were a physical thing. These were no longer her officers, brash despite their thoughtfulness, brave despite their weakness. They seemed strangers to her, innocents dealing with their first brush of the cold, cruel world. Whatever strength and reserve they kept for such occasions had failed them. Emma had never lost an officer before, and now, if she wasn't careful, she just might lose them all.

* * *

_P_C Briggs was wide awake and on the alert by the time Leonard Chase from forensics had appeared. The young constable was sitting at the reception desk with sharp eyes and a sense of importance. The Uxbridge station had come alive with the finding of Inspector Kenworthy's body; there were officers scrambling here and there, lights on all over the building, phone calls being made, and noise-noise everywhere.

Leonard Chase was a small, mousy man with fair hair, giving the timid appearance of a primary school teacher rather than a forensic specialist. Briggs eyed him sceptically, but the moment Chase opened his mouth all doubts were erased.

"I want to see the body," barked Chase in the voice of a man twice his height. He slapped his briefcase down on the table nearest to him and began flinging off his blazer. "I don't have any spare gloves, Constable, and I need them, so snap to it. And a nice, hot cuppa wouldn't be amiss, either; it's bloody freezing out there! And get me DCI Burrows!"

"Right here, Leonard," Irene said, rounding the corner in time to hear the last declaration from her old colleague.

"Ah, Irene, excellent!" Leonard Chase brightened cheerfully for a brief moment, then went back to business. As he spoke he set about slipping into his white vinyl coveralls. "Where did they find Kenworthy's body?"

"Just across the street there."

Chase paused to raise an eyebrow. "In front of the station? Think it was a coincidence?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Leonard. We're dealing with Jack the Ripper here, not Mickey Mouse."

He shrugged. "Who found her?"

"A tourist, funnily enough. Swede. He's being detained just now. He's helpful, but he's terribly upset."

"Think he's got anything to do with it?"

"Definitely not."

Chase paused in the midst of thrusting his left foot into his bright yellow galoshes. "Please tell me no one's gone over the site yet." The slight pause before her answer caused him to gape at Irene in disbelief. "Irene!" he bellowed in frustration. "How long have you been a police officer? For God's sake!"

Burrows looked guilty. "It's not entirely our fault, you know. The man who found her moved the body, and then I sent Flavin out there to-"

"Never mind, never mind." Chase sighed with displeasure. "There's still hope. Let's just pray the damage done is minimal."

"If it helps any, I know Flavin wasn't stupid enough to mess about with anything."

"It doesn't help a whole lot, but thanks anyway."

Irene watched as he finished with his boots and began to slip on his gloves, his gold wedding band flashing as he did. "Are you going to be working on your own, then?"

"Are you mad? Do you really think the murder of a police officer is going to get by with just _one_ forensic specialist here?" Chase shook his head. "My guess is this station will be crawling with officials by morning. Speaking of which, what time is it now?"

Irene glanced at the clock. "Nearly half-midnight."

As if the response had prompted him, Chase yawned hugely. "Christ, what a night."

"Len?"

"Hmm?" he replied distractedly.

"Did you know Kenworthy?"

Chase snapped the gloves into place and peered thoughtfully at Irene. "Not very well. I knew _of_ her, of course. Everyone does, I suppose. Top of her class at the centre, fastest rise to Detective Sergeant in twenty years, youngest officer ever promoted to the AMIT." He shrugged, not dismissively but helplessly. "It's a right shame is what it is. She was an intelligent little thing; smart as paint."

Irene grinned despite herself at the old-fashioned compliment. Then the smile faded. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

She led him out of the station and into the frigid evening air. It was some of the coldest weather London had experienced in years. The air cut sharply into Irene's lungs and she tightened her wool coat closer around her. Leonard trudged along beside her, almost comical in his unwieldy suit. When they came upon Nan's body he sucked his breath in sharply. Even in the dark, with only the faintest of light from the lamps that had been set up, he could see the damage that had been done to her.

"Jesus," he swore, stunned. "I didn't know it was this bad."

"Did you know she had been missing?"

"No." He looked surprised. "Where the hell have I been? I hadn't heard a word of this."

Irene nodded. "She's been missing for several days; just disappeared one day on her way to a murder scene. Her team-mates have been frantic."

"What a shame." Chase looked stricken. "God, what a shame. Any leads?"

"Well, I talked to Emma Shannon and she seemed sure they knew exactly who it was."

"Really? An ex-boyfriend, maybe?"

"No. It's quite bizarre, actually. Emma seemed absolutely positive it was the man they're investigating right now."

Chase's eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "Are you joking? That's the most bizarre thing I've ever heard."

"You've been doing this for twenty-five years and _that's_ the most bizarre thing you've ever heard?"

They exchanged a small chuckle. Then Chase drew his breath in and said, "Well, I'd best get to work then. I'm expecting O'Connell any minute now; send her along when she gets here, would you? And there should be one or two others after her."

"Mary O'Connell?"

"The very same. She's one of the best. Eyes like a hawk, that one. If I miss anything around here, it'll be Mary that finds it."

Leonard waited till Irene had gone, then turned back to survey the scene before him. The area had already been sectioned off by DCI Burrows' officers. Anna Kenworthy's body lay where Johan Skarsgård had left it. There were two sets of footprints around the body, one set had stayed a yard away, but the other set had crouched down beside it. Leonard was willing to bet the former belonged to DI Flavin and the latter to the man who had found her. Footprints didn't mean much anymore, anyway. Sherlock Holmes might have determined a lot from them in Victorian London, but in this day and age all it took was a strand of hair or a piece of torn skin, and they were light years closer to finding the culprit than the great fictional detective could ever have hoped to be.

He took a moment to gaze sadly up on the bruised and bloodied face of the young woman. He had met her only a few times before, mostly at police social functions, where it was difficult to discern whether or not she was an excellent detective. But her reputation had preceded her all over the LMPF, and the word of people like Emma Shannon and Sam Cain was good enough for Leonard Chase. He knew that they had lost one of the good ones.

He slapped on his hardhat, switched on the small light that was attached to it, and began to work. Leonard loved his job passionately; when he was investigating a scene, the rest of the world slipped away, his mind focusing intently on the task at hand, and only that. He didn't even hear Mary O'Connell arrive.

"How are yeh, Chief?" Mary's Dublin brogue rang out in what Leonard referred to as her 'professional Mary voice.'

Leonard rose abruptly. "Oh, it's you! Excellent!"

"Sorry I'm late. Me pager went off about ten times. Someone got wind I was heading out here; I had three pages from AMIT!" The complaint in her voice faded away. "Ah well, I can't blame them, the poor sods. A fellow officer, and all."

She set to work. It was after one o'clock when Sam Cain arrived. By then other forensic officers had joined Mary and Leonard. Two of them were lifting her body from the ground and carrying her away. When Sam saw this, his heart crashed against his rib cage. Poor Nan! And even that seemed inadequate. He fought back the tears, and was not surprised that his first thought was of Emma. When Mary O'Connell pulled the crisp white sheet over Nan's head, Sam finally had to look away, over to where Leonard Chase was touching the ground with his gloved hands, a look of absolute stupefaction on his face.

"Chief Inspector Cain, could you come here for a moment?" Chase paused to look up at Sam. "I need you to tell me I'm not going mad."

Sam's eyebrows narrowed at Chase's cryptic request. "What's going on, Len?"

Leonard raised his hand, cupping it before Sam. There seemed to be something in his palm. "I think I've found something, and I think it may work in your favour."


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

_I know there's a place you walked_

_Where love falls from the trees_

_My heart is like a broken cup_

_I only feel right on my knees_

"Who Are You" - the Who

* * *

_C_ovington Manor was a stately Berkshire farmhouse settled snugly in the midst of a grove of picturesque trees. It was a cosy, inviting little place straight out of Masterpiece Theatre, but the knowledge that Julian Westward was possibly somewhere within its walls tainted it somehow, made it seem sinister and darkly foreboding. As Jimmy slipped out of the car, he felt a surreal sense of dejá vú. He felt exactly as he had only days before when arriving at Westward's house in Surrey, the same overwhelming sensation of nausea mixed with fear, the same hope flaring painfully within him.

He couldn't stop torturing himself with the thought that Nan could be laying somewhere in there, possibly injured, maybe cold and hungry and frightened. He wanted to believe that Westward wasn't hurting her, but he knew it would be foolish. Every time he thought about what Westward had done in the past, his stomach clenched tight in fear. He knew Emma had a lot to lose by sending him out here; if Nan was hurt badly and Westward was anywhere near her, Jimmy wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

Jimmy advanced on the house with Kid, Teaspoon, Binchy, and Emerson at his heels. The morning was cold and overcast, tingeing everything with the unearthly grey of an early winter. Jimmy looked around at each man as they walked; they looked as tired and helpless as he felt. Everyone's eyes were streaked with red, puffy from the long drive and lack of sleep. They all had the dirty, dishevelled look that spoke plainly of the hours they had spent shoved uncomfortably into the tiny car, waiting for dawn.

They had arrived at one o'clock that morning, and it was at only at Teaspoon's insistence that they had waited: the four younger men were eager to rush the house and tear Westward limb from limb. Jimmy was sure time had never moved as slowly as during those interminable hours between moonlight and daybreak. Being so close and yet unable to help Nan ate away at Jimmy, more harshly with every minute that ticked by. At least now something could be done to relieve this tiresome agony.

Teaspoon pounded recklessly on the door. Kid and Pete Binchy had gone to the back of the house, anticipating a possible escape from Westward. Several minutes passed and no one came to the door.

"To hell with this, Teaspoon," Jimmy said in a low voice. "We've got a warrant, let's just search the damn place."

Teaspoon paused as if to consider this course of action, although privately he had already decided it would be the most effective plan. Then he nodded. "All right. Emerson, you get the door."

Pleased at being given the honour of such a task, Alan Emerson stepped back and rubbed his hands together before drawing back and eyeing the door, one leg rising, heading for the object before him. The door gave with one kick of his heavily-booted foot. It swung open, slamming back against the wall behind it.

As the other men ran inside, Teaspoon stopped to gaze upon the tall young man with the oft-broken nose and heavily-lidded eyes. "Well," he drawled. "That was a little more dramatic than I would have cared for, but it did the job."

Emerson smiled in reply but said nothing further. It was a move he had wanted to try ever since he was a kid; it had seemed as good a time as any to put it to use. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing toward the door.

They joined Jimmy, Kid, and Pete in the hall. The three men were standing around in a huddle, whispering to one another. The rest of the house was silent. Teaspoon peeked in each doorway as he passed, seeing nothing but dusty furniture and various debris scattered around, papers, cups, clothes, food. This was the place, he felt it in his bones. This was where Westward was. Now the only question was, was Nan here too?

The inside of the house was much smaller than the outside had led them to believe. The five of them could easily cover each room in no time at all. With a few muttered exchanges they separated, each of them going alone.

Jimmy crept to the stairs that divided the hallway in half. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears-an expression he had only ever read in books. Fear rose up in his throat, nearly choking him. The nausea gripped harder and he doubled over for a moment, breathing deep, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He knew they were close; like Teaspoon, he could feel it in his bones. For better or for worse, their search would end here.

He managed to right himself again and begin the inspection of each room. There was nothing to be found. Adrenaline was pumping so frenetically in his veins it was all he could do to breathe. With each search that proved fruitless he cursed in frustration, feeling his heart pound harder.

And then he heard a scream of outrage. It was coming from downstairs. It was Pete Binchy.

_"I've got him!"_

Emerson was closer than Jimmy, but Jimmy knocked him out of the way and raced down the stairs, jumping two or three at a time. He missed the last step entirely and landed on one foot, the ankle twisting, giving way and bringing Jimmy to his knees. He could hear the other men thundering through the hall, toward the direction of Binchy's voice. Ignoring the searing pain, Jimmy stood again and hobbled through the halls, past the kitchen, through another hall that led to steep, crumbling stairs. Stairs that led to a cellar where Pete had Westward pinned up against the wall, his arm at the man's throat. Kid was at his side, ready to step in if Westward got out of control.

Westward's green eyes were wild as he struggled with Pete, sweat pouring from him. His silk shirt and tailored trousers were grimy and ripped from his struggles. He was flailing about like a madman. It was a figure totally unlike the one Jimmy had been used to: this Westward was not cool and in control. In fact, he looked downright disgusting.

Rage, such as Jimmy had never known it, swept through him in a violent wave. His hands literally trembled; he could hardly see through his fury. With a loud, guttural cry, before anyone could make a move to stop him, he flew across the room, shoving Pete away, grabbing Westward around the throat with both hands.

"_Where is she_? Where is she, you _bastard_?"

Westward's face was turning red. He clawed at Jimmy with desperate hands. Teaspoon and Kid were pulling Jimmy by the shoulders with all their might, panting from the effort, but he couldn't be moved. His thumbs pressed into Westward's throat; Westward made a horrible spluttering sound.

Teaspoon released his grip on Jimmy and gasped. "_Jimmy!_" he roared breathlessly. "Jimmy, get your hands off that man _now!_"

The sound of his chief's voice seemed to be the only thing capable of breaking through to Jimmy. His shoulders relaxed and his hands slowly unfurled from around Westward's neck. Seizing the opportunity, Kid pulled Jimmy by the waist, hauling him away from Westward. The force of his pull sent Jimmy crashing back into him and the two of them landed in a heap on the floor.

Westward stood above them, rubbing his aching throat, the red draining from his face, Emerson and Binchy on either side of him. Teaspoon was blocking the door. With keen eyes, he swept his gaze in the room around them. There was a filthy mattress lying on the floor in one corner. A bucket filled with sudsy water was in an opposite corner, a sopping wet rag hanging over the edge. Upon closer inspection, it looked to be a very familiar t-shirt, coated with blood stains. There were blood stains on the floor. Cold fear struck Teaspoon's heart.

"Where is she?" he said, not looking at Westward, eyes still on the floor.

Still rubbing his throat, Julian shot Teaspoon a glare of hatred. "Who?"

"Don't pretend you don't know who we're talking about!" Kid was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to Westward so fast his tailored black coat flew out behind him. He stuck his face in Westward's and shouted. "Nan, you bastard! Where _is_ she?"

"I don't know who you're talking about. What are you doing in my house?"

"Don't lie to us, Westward!" Jimmy reached for Westward, slamming him back up against the wall. "Anna Kenworthy! Where _is _she?"

Suddenly Julian was his old self again. His eyes were again distant, his mouth a firm, sneering line. "If the little tart is missing, Lieutenant, it's nothing to do with me."

Jimmy yanked Westward forward and slammed him back again. "Tell us what you've done with her!"

"Jimmy." Again Teaspoon spoke forcefully. "Let him go."

The moment Jimmy turned his head to protest, Westward let fly with a left hook that sent him reeling back, holding his jaw in pain. "That's what you get for jumping to conclusions, you pathetic little tosser," Julian spat. The other men were poised to intervene, but Julian seemed to recognise the odds were against him. His fists stilled at his sides. "Didn't think I had it in me, did you, boys?" His lip curled menacingly upward. "Now get the hell out of my house."

Teaspoon walked forward, the search warrant in his hands. "We have every right to be here, Mr Westward. And you have every right to remain silent. Anything you say-"

"This isn't the land of the free and the home of the brave," growled Westward. "Save your spiel for someone who gives a shit. I already know my rights."

Teaspoon nodded in affirmation. "You'll be coming with us, Mr Westward."

"And why is that?" One black eyebrow raised on Westward's arrogant face.

"Assaulting an officer."

"Is that the best you can do?"

Teaspoon went to the bucket and lifted the t-shirt from the water, his sleeves carefully tucked over his hands to avoid contaminating the shirt with his own prints. A cascade of soapy water fell to the floor. It was Nan's t-shirt, emblazoned with the words 'The Who: Live at Leeds.' "This shirt belongs to Inspector Kenworthy, Mr Westward. Any idea what it's doing here?" It killed him to speak so casually, but he had to remain as calm and professional as he possibly could.

Jimmy saw the shirt dangling from Teaspoon's hands, the red bloodstains standing out sharply against the sienna-coloured cloth, and wanted to fall to his knees. Only his last scrap of strength prevented him from doing so. Hot tears rushed to his eyes. "Nan...oh God…_Nan_..."

Emerson had leaned back against the wall as if barely able to remain standing himself. Pete and Kid were white with horror, utterly shocked. Teaspoon prayed they could keep it together long enough to see this through. This man had to pay for what he had done and Teaspoon needed these boys' help to see that he did.

It was impossible to tell what was going through Julian Westward's mind. His face didn't register anything as simple as surprise or as complicated as guilt; it was entirely devoid of any expression. Then his eyes flickered briefly. "Well, you'd better take me in then, hadn't you? And I want my solicitor, Patrick Smithy, phoned immediately. I want him to meet me at whatever station you're taking me to. I'll fight this, you know. I'll fight this, and I'll win."

The four younger officers didn't seem to be able to move. Jimmy looked absolutely stricken. Emerson was finally able to gather his wits together. He pulled out the handcuffs, ready to slip them on Westward, but Jimmy stopped him.

"I'll do it."

Westward looked almost pleased. He smiled cheekily as Jimmy stood behind him, jerking his arms together at the wrist, snapping the cuffs into place. Westward tilted his head back slightly so that his mouth was at Jimmy's ear. "Can I let you in on a little secret, Lieutenant?" His voice dropped lower and was almost indiscernible. Jimmy froze.

"I did kill her, Lieutenant. But you'll never be able to prove it."

* * *

_B_lood.

Leonard Chase had found blood. But more than that-fresh blood. _Nan__'__s_ fresh blood. Nan was bleeding. She had three gunshot wounds, four broken ribs, a broken arm, a sprained wrist, a concussion, bruises over forty percent of her body, and the beginning stages of one hell of a case of hypothermia.

But she wasn't dead.

Detective Chief Inspector Sam Cain sat in the glaringly-lit hospital room at Nan's bedside. There were tubes in her mouth and down her throat, in her nose and in her veins. The monitor next to her showed a faint but persistent heartbeat, slowed by the cold that had invaded her body; a heartbeat undetectable to Johan Skarsgård's numb, fumbling, inexperienced fingers-but a heartbeat nonetheless.

Sam wanted to grab one of Nan's slim, pale hands in his and squeeze it with gratitude and relief, but the nurses had forbidden him to touch her. Her skin was too sensitive, they said, due to the hypothermia, and in this state there was no telling what the simplest touch could do to Nan's fragile body. So instead Sam sat next to her bed, his eyes darting from the girl before him to the monitor that reassured him of her life. Had it not been for that monitor he would have doubted it, for the rise and fall of her chest was imperceptible.

The bluish tint to her skin was beginning to fade. A slightly healthier colour was returning, but there was still room for improvement. Sam smiled through his tears, too happy she was alive to be ashamed of himself. He couldn't resist a small stroke of her hair, as if to reassure himself that this amazing, important girl was alive-really, truly alive.

He lifted his head as a sudden commotion outside the door was heard. He heard Emma's distinctive voice, that low voice with its Leeds overtones. She was shouting at the doctor. "I don't care _how_ many visitors you _allow_, Doctor. I'm telling you we are _all_ going in there!"

Sam grinned to himself and wiped the tears from his lashes. The door was flung open and he saw two older men, one tall and rail-thin, the other slightly shorter, both grey-haired and clasping one another by the elbows.

He recognised them as Nan's grandfather and uncle. A lanky teenage boy was right behind them, followed by Emma and Langley. The moment they laid eyes on Nan, all present let out choked, hysterical laughs of joy.

Will and Jamie Kenworthy rushed to the bed as if one person. Paying no heed to the doctor's warning, they fell upon Nan, their girl, the pride of their hearts and the joy of their lives, and kissed her bruised skin over and over again, murmuring incoherent phrases of love and thanks between each kiss, whispering fervent, broken prayers. Paul stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his cousin, frightened at the state of her, unable to make himself believe that this frail, broken creature was really his strong, confident, beautiful cousin.

Sam went to the boy and placed his hands on the thin shoulders. "It's all right," he said consolingly. "Don't be scared. She's going to pull through this, I promise you."

Emma shot him a sudden look, the implication clear: 'Don't go making promises you have no control over keeping.' It was obvious that Nan's life still hung in the balance. One bullet had shot clean through, narrowly missing her heart, the other had gone through her right side. Hypothermia had set in and although it was only a mild case yet, it was nothing to be ignored. There was internal bleeding to worry about, and broken bones. But still there was hope.

Sam could see Emma wanted to go to Nan, but he stopped her, and ushered both her and Langley out of the room, leaving Jamie, Will, and Paul alone for a moment. "There'll be time enough later," he told Emma, hugging her close, not caring that Langley was watching.

Within the room, Will and Jamie were bent over Nan's bed, tears dropping from their eyes onto the crisp white hospital sheets. Paul remained immobile, staring at his cousin, willing her to wake up, wanting more than anything in the world to see her blue eyes smiling at him again, to hear her say, 'It'll all be okay, Paulie lad, don't you worry,' the way she always did. It scared him to see Granddad and Uncle Jamie cry. More than anything it scared him to see his lively, vibrant cousin lying so still and lifeless.

"Will she...be okay, Granddad?"

"'Course she will!" Uncle Jamie replied confidently. "She's a Kenworthy and the Kenworthys always bounce back."

Paul bit his lip and refrained from arguing the point. He had never seen anyone look less like bouncing back.

Will slumped down in the chair Sam had been occupying. His face looked as grey as his beard. "I'll kill him," he muttered.

Stunned at this declaration from the quiet, mild-mannered Will, Paul and Jamie could only gape at him.

"Will..." Jamie began.

Brushing his brother's interruption aside, Will's eyes flashed. "I'll kill him. How could he let this happen?"

"Who, Granddad?" Paul was confused.

"Hickok. That Hickok bloke. I thought I could trust him; he _promised_. He promised he'd take care of her. He promised he'd look out for her. And look-" he paused, voice breaking. "Look at her now."

"Will, be reasonable. You can't blame the young man for this. He couldn't possibly be with her every moment of the day; you know Nan would never have stood for it. Blame the right person, for God's sake, blame the bastard that did this to her."

"I'll kill him, as well."

If Paul had been afraid before, he was now even more so. The past few days after Nan's disappearance had been hell on the three men. They cringed every time the phone rang, couldn't sleep at night for the horrific nightmares that plagued them, and every woman they saw looked somehow like Nan. Paul had always scoffed at his grandfather for worrying when there was no need; faced with fears he had every right to feel, Will was unbearable.

And now he was off his head apparently, blaming Hickok- whom Paulie liked very much-for not taking care of Nan. When they all, especially Granddad, knew that to 'take care' of Nan only succeeded in earning her rage.

Will was taking off his coat, eyes fixed on his granddaughter's unconscious body.

"Keep Hickok away. I don't want him to see her."

"That's not right, Granddad, Jimmy will want to-"

"I don't care what _Jimmy_ wants. I'm her next of kin, I have rights, and I say James Hickok will come nowhere near her."


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

_He said, "London, can you wait?_

_For all the things I have to say?"_

"London, Can You Wait?" - Gene

* * *

_I_t seemed as if every officer at the Ladbroke Grove station had turned out to see Julian Westward brought in. Teaspoon led the small procession through the halls, Westward behind him, flanked by a stricken Andrew Kidwell and an ashen-faced James Hickok. Binchy and Emerson brought up the rear, along with two detectives from the Berkshire station whose help Teaspoon had enlisted on the return to London.

The AMIT officers had gathered at the end of the hall by the doors of the incident room. Lou was surrounded by Cody, Ike, Buck, and Noah, her arms folded over her chest. Her eyes were still red from crying and an expression of utter loathing crossed her pretty features upon the sight of Westward. His arrogant spirit seemed unquenched; he met the fierce gazes around him with unwavering eyes, seemingly immune to the hatred directed at him.

Lou saw Jimmy's beleaguered face and felt her heart twist inside her. He knew Nan was dead, she was sure of it. Maybe Westward had gloated over it to Jimmy like the evil bastard that he was, revelling in the knowledge that he had taken Nan away from the young man who loved her so much. Maybe he had merely found proof; whatever the case, he knew Nan was dead, and Lou's heart broke for him, warring with the equally acute rage she felt toward Westward.

Kid didn't look any better; the loss of his friend had already hit him hard. Lou stared for a moment at his beautiful, sad face and wanted nothing more than to go to him and take him in her arms, to comfort him, to do and be anything he needed right now. But she held back, hesitant, unsure if her advances would be welcome.

Jimmy wouldn't meet her eyes. He kept his own trained on the floor, looking as if he'd been through hell and back.

"He won't look at me," Lou whispered fretfully to Noah.

"I don't think his mind's on us right now, Lou."

There was a brief, inaudible exchange between Teaspoon and Jimmy, and then the door to interview room "A" was unlocked, and Jimmy and Westward went in, the door closing after them. The silence in the hall was suddenly broken, and the officers rushed forward, swarming over Teaspoon, throwing questions at him thick and fast.

The chief raised his hands in the air in a request for silence. He sighed heavily and looked around at the officers surrounding him. "First things first, folks. I have some...some awful news."

Next to him Kid looked as if he were going to be sick. Lou went to him and slipped her arm under his blazer and around his waist, letting him feel the warmth and strength of her body as closely as he could. He managed a small, grateful smile down at her and hugged her to him. "Hello, gorgeous."

"Where's Emma?" Teaspoon was asking.

"She's gone to see Nan's family," answered Noah. "Teaspoon...we already know."

Teaspoon didn't even bother clarifying. He just shook his head in disbelief. He looked weary and older than his years. "They found her body?" he asked simply.

Jason Albarn nodded. "In Uxbridge. Forensic are there now, scouting the site." He could hardly get the words out.

The Ladbroke Grove officers began to drift off, giving the AMIT group their moment alone. They had respected Anna Kenworthy, but none felt comfortable interfering in the grief of those who had been close to her.

The small circle around Teaspoon drew closer together, waiting. "We found him in Berkshire," he said. "He had one of Nan's shirts-bloody, torn, filthy. He told Jimmy he'd killed her."

Lou drew her breath in with a sharp gasp. Cody covered his mouth with his hand, fighting for composure. No one said anything for a moment.

Then Ike spoke up. "Teaspoon, are you sure it's a good idea leaving Jimmy in there alone with Westward?"

"I trust Jimmy to do the right thing."

"If the right thing is beating the shit out of Julian Westward," Buck replied, "then yeah, you can count on Hickok."

Teaspoon nodded, acknowledging the likelihood of just such an event. "All I can say in his defence is that he knows the consequences of his actions. There's not an officer among us who'd blame him if he said to hell with them." He ran a shaky hand over his face. "Why are you all here, anyway? Is Alcott making you work?"

"He said we could have today off," Roddy O'Hara answered, looking quickly around at his team-mates. "But we couldn't do that to Nan. We can't give Westward even one moment of peace."

Kid grimaced. "Maybe we can't make him pay for everything he's done, but he will pay for this."

"Everything's falling together," Ike said carefully. "The ID on Atherton, the statement from Victoria Westward..._especially_ the statement from Victoria Westward. We _will_ make him pay."

Cody nodded. "The noose is tightening around the bastard's neck. He just doesn't know it yet."

"You folks need to get home." Teaspoon was forceful. "We've got our man; it's time for us all to go home and get some rest. You all look like night of the living dead."

No one even managed the smallest smile. The pain of losing Nan was still too fresh in their minds. They turned to go, leaving Teaspoon to join Jimmy in the interview room. As the group filtered from the hall, Kid and Louise stayed behind, her arm still around his waist, his hand on the back of her neck. They watched as the door closed behind Teaspoon.

Louise felt Kid's fingers tighten around her neck anxiously. When he spoke his voice was thick and heavy with emotion. "I can't believe she's really gone." He sounded near the breaking point.

"Come here." Lou released him only to tug at his free hand, pulling him into a nearby office and locking the door. She didn't even stop to wonder whose office she had barged into; her attention was focused only on Kid.

He sank down into the leather sofa and dropped his head into his hands, slender fingers tangling in his thick, sandy curls. "Her blood was on the floor-"

Lou knelt before him, clasping his knees, gazing at him with beseeching eyes. "Kid...Kid, don't..."

"He had her favourite t-shirt. It was bloody-there were bullet-holes in it. And I looked at that shirt and I knew she was dead, and all I could think of was-"

"Oh, Kid," Lou's eyes filled immediately. She could hardly see his face through the cloud of tears. "Don't put yourself through this," she choked.

"All I could think of," he persisted, "was the very first time I saw her, at the training centre. She was wearing that shirt and she spilled tea on it, and she _cried_. She said it had been her dad's favourite shirt and she-" Kid stopped, his voice breaking. Lou watched helplessly as he began to sob, quietly, tears coursing down his face. "Isn't that ridiculous?"

"Oh Kid, it's not ridiculous." Lou drew his head down to rest on her shoulder. "It's not ridiculous at all."

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closely against him. "I don't know what I would do if I were in Jimmy's place. If it were you, Lou, I think I'd die."

"Shh. Shh, don't talk like that."

Kid lifted his head and stared into her eyes, so intensely Lou felt he was staring straight into her soul. "I love you, Louise McCloud. I had no idea how much until now. And I feel like such a bastard, because you know I loved Nan-"

"I know you did," she assured him.

He reached out to clasp her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing along the lines of her lips. He continued as if she hadn't interrupted. "As much as I loved Nan, I couldn't-I couldn't help being glad that it _wasn't_ you."

Lou choked on a sob. She couldn't speak. It wasn't the shock of his confession, it was the magnitude of his words, the realisation that his love for her was as complete as hers for him.

"I love you, Louise."

"I love you too, Kid. With all my heart. And I'll help you through this, I swear I will."

They rested their foreheads together and closed their eyes, breathing deeply of the same air. Lou felt Kid's pain more strongly than her own. She wanted to protect him from it but she knew she couldn't. She knew all she could do was be there for him, to love him and hold his hands through the hardest parts.

Their silent reverie was interrupted by a commotion in the hall outside. There were at least a dozen voices raised, mixing and jumbling together in a cacophony of noise. Straining their ears, Lou and Kid caught a fragmented sentence here and there, barely discernible in all the commotion.

"...forensic found...for God's sake!"

"...hypothermia...very bad...hospital..."

"...grandfather with her..."

"...but she's bloody alive!"

Kid dragged his sleeve across his eyes. He sniffed. "What's going on?" He rose and pulled Lou to her feet.

"Let's go see."

The moment they opened the door the decibel level rose at least twenty percent. Once again every officer in the station had gathered in the hall, but this time there were shouts of laughter and smiles and joy permeating the air. Kid grabbed Jason Albarn. The young man whirled round to face him. He was grinning.

"Jason, what the hell is going on?"

"Guv just called." Albarn could hardly contain himself. "She's at the hospital with Langley and Cain. Nan's not dead, Kid. She's not dead!"

The world spun violently for a moment. Kid's knees buckled. He grasped Albarn's lapels harder. "What?" he whispered.

"It's true, Kid." Cody had materialised at Kid's side. His impish grin was back in evidence. He slapped Kid on the back, unable to keep himself from dragging his friend into a bear hug. "Sam was out in Uxbridge when forensic found fresh blood and discovered that it was Nan's. They brought in a doctor, he examined her, and she's in pretty bad shape, but she's _alive_!"

Albarn joined in eagerly. "Cain paged Guv, Guv went to the hospital to see for herself, and she's _alive_, Kid! Can you believe it?"

"I think I need to sit down," breathed Lou. She looked at Cody. "Does Jimmy know?"

The smile faded from Cody's face, but only slightly. "Actually, we were hoping you could tell him, Lou. I think it'd be best if he heard it from you, and besides, there's...there's something else."

"Oh, God. What else?" She was still reeling from this latest information. She hadn't even accepted that Nan was dead and now she was being forced to adjust to the fact that she was alive. It was all too much.

Cody cleared his throat. "Nan's still unconscious and her grandfather-" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable. "Her grandfather doesn't want Jimmy anywhere near her."

Lou gasped. "What? How can he do that to Jimmy?" She looked at Kid. "Why is he doing this?" she demanded.

Exhausted, Kid leaned against the wall and tried to rein in his emotions. This sounded exactly like the Will he'd come to know over the years, lashing out wherever Nan was concerned. "He's looking for someone to blame, I would imagine. He's dreaded this day for years, Lou. He's begged Nan to leave the force and she's never agreed to it. I think actually, deep down, he blames Nan herself; he just feels it's safer to blame Jimmy."

Lou glanced over at the door to interview room "A," a still figure amidst the joyous racket being created by the officers, and wondered how in the world she was going to tell Jimmy he wouldn't be allowed to see the woman he loved when he found out she was truly alive.

* * *

_"I...I'd like a hug."_

_"A hug?" _

_"Oh, it's silly..." _

_"I guess I'm just_ surprised."

_"Surprised?" _

_"Yeah, surprised. You have no idea how much I've wanted to hold you this past week. I was just afraid to." _

_"I can be pretty hard to deal with, can't I?" _

_"Umm...you could say that, yes." _

_"Stay with me tonight, Jimmy."_

_T_he memory was crystal clear and so beautiful that it flared dormant senses to life. There was something pushing hard at her eyelids, refusing to give way, but Nan struggled against it. The thought rose suddenly in her mind: _I want to open my eyes_, and nothing would stop her from doing so. Her lids fluttered, feeling as if they weighed a stone apiece, until they opened at last.

There was a pristine white ceiling above her and the sounds of beeping machines around her. The light in the room was a harsh glow that hurt her eyes. She winced at the brightness and realised she was lying down. Her arms seemed heavier and she lacked the strength to lift them. It was difficult enough to move her head, but she managed to glance around the room, taking in her surroundings. It was several moments before she realised she was in a hospital room.

She suddenly became conscious of the tubes in her nose and down her throat. There was an IV drip in her wrist and she was aware of the unpleasant sensation of a foreign object under her skin. Apart from this, she was quite comfortable; incredibly so, in fact. Her body felt warm and slightly tingly, almost as if she were floating. But she couldn't imagine what she was doing there. Had she been in some sort of accident?

Her eyes fell on the chair that had been pulled up next to her bed, and the white-haired old man occupying it, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he pored over a magazine. Nan opened her mouth to call to her grandfather, but the tubes prevented her from saying anything.

The subtle movement caught Will's attention. He cried out and dropped the magazine on the floor heedlessly, clasping Nan's fragile hand in his. Tears sprang to his kindly eyes. "Oh, Nan, my blessed girl. They said you could wake up at any moment, but I hardly dared to hope."

Nan smiled weakly in return. She managed to raise her free hand and tap at her throat with pleading eyes. 'Please take this out,' she begged silently.

"Just a moment, love, all right?" Will pressed kisses to his granddaughter's forehead. "I must fetch the doctor first. Oh, thank God. Thank God, you're going to be all right."

It seemed forever before the doctor was able to remove the tube from Nan's throat. First there was the hour-long examination and then charts to be filled out, and papers to be signed by Will, and it wasn't until later that afternoon that the tube was gone and Nan was left in her hospital room with her grandfather, uncle, and cousin surrounding her.

"What day is it?" Her throat was dry and scratchy. It hurt to talk.

"Sunday," supplied Uncle Jamie. He had her by the left hand while Will clasped her right.

Paul smiled shyly. "You've been in here since the day before yesterday."

"What's happened to me?"

Will and Jamie exchanged a glance. "You mean you don't remember?" her grandfather asked.

"Well, I remember..." Nan paused and struggled to figure out exactly what she did remember. It came to her in a flash of cold realisation. Suddenly she remembered everything-leaving the station that day that seemed years ago, on her way to the murder scene, waylaid by Nigel Atherton, waking suddenly in her flat, tied up and blindfolded with the feel of a man's hands on her. She remembered the coughing Welshman and hearing Jimmy's voice that day in the room above her, and the harshness of Westward's fists against her, and pain...pain everywhere.

The tears burned at her swollen eyes. "I remember," she whispered.

Will rushed to place his arms around her. "There, there, love. You're safe now, I promise you. We won't let you down. You're safe with us."

The dark images struggled for control over her, but Nan fought them away with all the strength she could muster. Not now. She couldn't think about all that now. She just wanted to forget, to forget it all.

"Nan..." Paul looked small and lost. "We all thought you were _dead_."

Nan stared at him in shock. "_What_?"

Jamie shot his nephew a sharp look. "Not now, Paulie. Let's give her a chance to get her strength back. She's very weak now."

"Everyone thought I was dead?" She could hardly believe the words.

"It's all right now." Will was helpless, anxious to ease the worry from her face. "You're fine. Everyone knows you're fine. You just need the chance to rest."

"Everyone's been to see you," added Jamie with a comforting smile.

'Even Jimmy?' she wondered desperately, but she bit back the words. "Everyone?" she asked.

"Oh yes," agreed Will, "Superintendent Alcott, Emma Shannon, Sam Cain, Andrew and Ike, that lovely little Louise McCloud-" He faltered, remembering how Louise had come with James Hickok in tow.

"And Jimmy?" The words escaped before she could stop them. She ached for Jimmy as strongly as she had during those horrifying days in Westward's capture. She wanted to know-had to know-if he had cared enough to come see her.

Anger flushed on Uncle Jamie's cheeks. He wouldn't look at his brother.

Will cleared his throat. "I, ah, I felt it best that Lieutenant Hickok not visit, love."

Was he trying to protect her? Nan watched him with sharp eyes. "Granddad, just tell me the truth. Did Jimmy come to see me or not?"

Jamie's anger sparked further at his brother's refusal to answer. He spoke up. "Yes, he did. He comes every day. He's out there now, as a matter of fact, in the waiting room. Your grandfather won't let him in, but he refuses to leave."

Nan's mouth fell open. "You...you won't let him in?"

Will was close to tears again. He stroked his granddaughter's hand over and over, avoiding her eyes. "He-he promised to take care of you, Nan, and he didn't. He let you get taken from us, and then he-"

"And then he worked like a madman to _find_ her!" barked Jamie. "He didn't _let_ her get taken, Will. Stop being so bloody ridiculous and see reason! That poor lad is out there, he's been coming here every day, he's worried, he's desperate to see Anna and you won't let him! This _wasn't_ his _fault_."

"And _I_ say it _was_ his fault!"

"It was _not_ his fault. He's already punishing himself enough for something he had no control over, how can you be so cruel as to punish him, too? He loves her, Will, that should count for something!"

The last roar hung in the air for a moment before fading away. Paul and Nan looked at their grandfather and uncle, amazed at the vehemence of the argument. They were used to the bickering and petty squabbles, but an argument of this magnitude was startling. Everyone was silent as the two old men glared at each other with blazing eyes.

Then Nan reached up to draw her grandfather's shaking hand in her own weak fingers. The tears stung but she ignored them. Uncle Jamie had said Jimmy loved her. The words still echoed in her ears. "Please Granddad," she said quietly. "Please let Jimmy in."

Will and Nan locked gazes for several long, drawn-out moments. The buzzing and beeping of the machines were the only sounds in the room. Will's eyes filled with his beautiful, battered granddaughter, seeing not the many scrapes and bruises, but the girl he loved so much, with her father's hair and her mother's eyes, watching him with love and hope in her face. She had already been through so much, he could not refuse her this.

He leaned over to press his lips to her forehead, before crossing the room to find James Hickok. It was time to let the boy in, to put his heart at ease and his fears to rest.


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_There is freedom within, there is freedom without_

_Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup_

_There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost_

_But you'll never see the end of the road_

_while you're traveling with me_

"Don't Dream It's Over" - Crowded House

* * *

_J_immy was alone in the waiting area. From where he stood he could see the closed door to Nan's hospital room. She was in there now, waiting for him. His heart was in his throat. Now that he was finally being allowed to see her, he couldn't make his feet move in her direction. The fear that had plagued him all along seemed tenfold now.

At last he managed to put one foot in front of the other. When he came to Nan's door he placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, pausing, willing himself to go on. And then he made himself open the door.

The moment he entered the room his gaze caught Nan's. At first he didn't even see the bruises, only the dark, brilliant blue of her eyes, shadowy, watching him carefully. He held her gaze for a moment before breaking away to inspect her from head to toe; her dark hair had been washed and lay like a fluffy cloud around her battered face. The swelling had gone down considerably, leaving redness and bruising. There were fading finger marks around her slim throat. The hands that rested on top of the sheets were stiff and scraped raw, the wrists marred with horrible, deep lacerations. Her pale colouring faded into the pure white linen. She seemed fragile and broken. Every blemish was a physical reminder of the ordeal she had gone through. Jimmy could hardly bear to look at her, knowing they had all failed her, knowing that though the outer pain was visible, the inner pain must be deeper.

Nan watched him as he watched her, drawing her breath in sharply as his eyes grazed over her injuries and he recoiled in shock. The wait was a physical pain. She had no idea what his first words would be and she didn't know if she wanted to hear them.

Jimmy stopped surveying her injuries to look back into her face. She was petrified, cowering against the bed as if in anticipation of another blow, whether physical or mental he wasn't sure, but the knowledge broke his heart. He had to stop and catch his breath, to will the tears back. She wasn't ready to be strong yet; he had to be strong for her.

As lightly as he could, he said, "Hey there, gorgeous."

The gentle, sincere words, delivered in Jimmy's tenderly husky voice, were like fingers stroking away the tension in her back. Nan's posture loosened and her shoulders relaxed. The headache that had been developing edged away from her brain.

Jimmy had drawn closer to her. "Can I sit here?" he asked, patting the bed. He was determined to keep his voice as normal as possible, to let her know that she was no different in his eyes, that she was still Nan to him.

Nan's heart skipped, but she remained as calm as she could. She nodded, pushing herself back up against the pillows. His familiar scent filled her nostrils. The heat of his body radiated toward her own. She wanted to be in his arms, but she found she couldn't ask. Instead she smiled weakly at him and was rewarded with a shaky smile in return.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, I'm doped up on some rather heavenly painkillers, so actually I feel quite spiffy."

Jimmy laughed and his smile grew broader. "Did they say when they'll let you out of here?"

"Hopefully by the weekend."

He nodded. "Good. That's good." There was a slight pause. "Do you need anything? I mean, is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you. I'm all right."

"Good. That's good."

He cleared his throat and attempted to ignore the fierce longing inside him. He wanted to hold her and stroke her hair and kiss away the bruises, but he didn't make a move. He wanted her in his arms but he was afraid to frighten her again. "So...have you had a lot of visitors?" He already knew the answer to that question; he had been out in the waiting area watching as visitor after visitor traipsed in and out of Nan's room.

"Well, Granddad and Uncle Jamie and Paul, of course. And Geoff's been here with Dru. And Emma and Sam. Yes, a lot, I suppose."

"That's good."

"Yes, isn't it?"

Jimmy stared at the ceiling helplessly. The conversation seemed to have reached a dead end. It felt like they were strangers again, only this time with none of that first bitterness.

Then Nan spoke tremulously. "Granddad said that you've caught him?"

Jimmy froze. There was no mistaking who the 'him' was that she was referring to. "Yes, we caught him. Shortly after they...found you."

"And everyone really thought I was _dead_?" She seemed just as scared of the question as she was of the answer. "Granddad said so, and I believe him, but-did you really?"

It was impossible to keep his voice from trembling. The memory of Westward's vicious sneer was all too fresh in his mind-_'__I did kill her, Lieutenant, but you'll never be able to prove it_.' Jimmy nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes, we really did."

"I can't believe it...I mean, I don't remember what happened, I just remember him hitting me, and-" She was crying. The sobs wracked her thin body and she covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. I'll be all right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You don't have anything to be sorry for," he replied desperately. He couldn't bear to see her like this. Her pain tore him in half. At last he shoved his worry and trepidation aside and acted merely on instinct. He reached for her, enfolding her in his arms, drawing her up close against his chest. For a second he could only savour the feel of Nan in his arms again, the soft outlines of her body against his, before reality set in. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he murmured again. "You just cry. Just cry. It's going to be all right, I promise. I promise you, honey. I won't let him hurt you again."

The moment he held her Nan could feel the fear begin to dissipate like magic. His touch was so soothing, so calming that almost at once the tears subsided. Even the memory of Westward refused to linger. He was a shadow always in her mind, darkening her life in a way nothing had ever done before, and it was only Jimmy who had the power to make him go away, if only for a little while. Nan clung to him like a drowning woman, ashamed of needing his protection so terribly but not caring. When Jimmy said he wouldn't let Westward hurt her again, she believed him. And she desperately needed to believe him.

He could feel her relax and reluctantly loosened his hold, only to feel her cling tighter.

"Don't let go yet," she whispered.

"I won't. Not until you want me to."

"Do you promise?"

Without realising it they had drawn apart and were facing each other, nose to nose. "I promise." His breathing was ragged. He wanted to kiss her. All the scrapes and bruises in the world didn't change what this woman was to him-beautiful, amazing, and more desirable than she could ever know.

"Jimmy..."

"Shh." He dropped his mouth to hers, carefully, and touched their lips together. The familiar taste of Nan flooded his senses. He heard her sigh softly and lean into him. Only after several long moments did she break off to smile against his shoulder.

"You've turned into quite the romantic hero in my absence."

He leaned back, arms still around her. He could feel the almost tangible change as they slipped slowly, effortlessly, back into their old routine. "I've been waiting to hone my skills on you."

"'Hone your skills'? Sounds a bit racy, Lieutenant."

Jimmy laughed and reached out to brush the tears from her face. She seemed better but there was still fear in her eyes. "What can I say, Inspector? You get me all hot and bothered."

She snickered in disbelief. "Not in this state I don't."

"Well," he replied playfully, "I admit a hospital has never exactly been high on my list of fantasy spots, but that little night-gown you're wearing is giving me other ideas."

Nan stared at him for a moment before collapsing into giggles. She held her side gingerly. "Oh God, that hurts," she spluttered through her laughter. "Ooh...pain, pain, pain. Hold on."

"Hold on to what?" Jimmy raised his eyebrows wickedly. "Inspector, are you coming on to me?"

"Jimmy, stop!" she giggled helplessly.

"That's not what you were saying a few minutes ago."

"Jimmy, I mean it!" She tried to subdue her laughter, it was killing her ribs, but it was impossible with Jimmy looking at her like something off the cover of a romance novel.

He sobered. "I thought about you every day," he said thickly. "I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't do anything but think about you."

The smile faded from Nan's face but she kept her tone playful. "Come now, you sound like a teenager in love or something." Realising her words, she flushed in embarrassment.

Jimmy's fingers stroked the side of her face. "Well, I'm long past being a teenager, Nan, but I think it's pretty safe to say that I am in love."

"Are you? Do I know the lucky girl?" She eyed him saucily.

He grinned. The sarcasm was back; a sure sign that she was on the road to recovery. "I don't think so," he said. "She's an exotic dancer down at this little strip club in SoHo. She goes by the name of Lola and she has hair the colour of-" He was interrupted by a slap of Nan's hand. He grinned. "Well, what kind of a stupid question is that? 'Do I know her'? It's _you_, you impossible little brat."

Nan was suddenly so happy she could hardly breathe. "Jimmy, do you mean that?"

"More than anything, ever. How can you not know? How can you be the only person within a fifty-mile radius who doesn't know I'm crazy about you?"

She gave a resigned sigh. "Well, I'm always the last to know anything."

He laughed in outrage. "If you don't cut it with the sarcasm, I'm going to wring you by your sweet little neck. I'm trying to be romantic, you know."

"All right, all right, I'll be serious." She looked at him with a solemn face, her eyes twinkling, life in them for the first time since she had awakened. "Go ahead, Lieutenant, be romantic. Sweep me off my feet, go ahead."

Jimmy sighed in earnest. "You're taking the romance _right_ out of the whole thing."

"I love you too, Jimmy."

The abrupt statement made him stop. "What did you say?"

"I said 'I love you too, Jimmy.'"

"I thought that's what you said, but I wasn't sure."

"Well, we are in a hospital. We can get your ears checked while we're here."

Jimmy seized her by her shoulders. "Just for that crack, I'm going to make you say it again."

"You men. You always need your egos stroked."

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to hear you say that?"

"What? That you need your ego stroked?"

He tugged at her hair in frustration. "Listen to me! Do you know how badly I've wanted to tell you how _I_ feel?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to be in love with a woman like you, Nan? You push me away the minute I try to get close to you, you run from me every time I think things are maybe going to go okay. I was afraid that if I said anything you'd get scared and run harder, and maybe the next time I wouldn't be able to catch you. I couldn't afford to lose you. But this past week…with you gone…I don't care if you're scared, Nan, I have to tell you how I feel. How much I love you." He waited, but she said nothing. "And if you say anything like, 'But we've only known each other this many weeks,' I swear to God I'll scream."

Nan searched his beloved face, the beautiful weight of his words sinking into her. And she knew that it was time to tell him the truth, at long last. She couldn't hide from him anymore. Not when he had opened himself up to her. Not when she loved him so much. "I thought about you, too," she said. "Every hour, sitting down there in the cold and the dark, I would think of you and pray that you would come find me. He-he tried to make me believe you didn't care, and for a while I _did _believe…but then I knew. I knew you would come look for me. And I knew that I loved you."

It would have been impossible to describe the overwhelming feeling that rushed through Jimmy. He couldn't find words, couldn't speak at all. There was no room for anything but Nan. He pulled her into his arms again and held her so tightly her bruised ribs were crushed, but she didn't protest. She just let herself be held, grateful that at last she was with him again, feeling the comfort and protection that only Jimmy could provide.

* * *

_"C_or, get a load of this, would you?"

Iain Langley was lifting up the floorboards of the sitting room he was searching with Louise McCloud. She stopped her inspection of a roll-top desk to join him in the corner. They both peered down to the hole the floorboards had left behind. It was filled with bloody cloths and gloves. The sight sent Lou's stomach reeling. Iain reached in with a pair of tweezers and lifted each piece out carefully before placing them into a clear plastic bag.

Lou took the bag from him and dropped it in the hallway among the steadily growing stack of evidence. There were floor plans for the LaChaille, Harbury, Claussen, Andropolous, and Tate homes. In addition, floor plans to the homes of Richard Yancey and Vivian Cullom-the members of the Hawkesworth Firm who had not been touched by Westward's chain of murder and burglary.

There was a notebook devoted to combinations for safety chests, red circles around several numbers with indications of who they belonged to. There was a gun and a lethal-looking blunt instrument which looked to be what had murdered Eric Jeffries. There were clothes which had apparently belonged to Westward as well as an accomplice-clothes stained with blood. There were phone numbers for people like Angelina Cyrus and Nigel Atherton, there were bank statements to Atherton's Pawnshop-signed by Victoria Westward. There were more of Nan's personal belongings. There were plane tickets to Jamaica in the name of Julian Westward and Renée Greer, his mistress. In fact, they had uncovered so much to incriminate Westward that only one thing would have made it perfect: the discovery of the jewels themselves.

"My God," Noah remarked in amazement. "Who keeps a load like this? There's enough here to incriminate him for everything from murder to unpaid traffic tickets. Doesn't he know to get rid of the evidence?"

"Just our luck, he saves all the evidence we need but the stuff we have to return," said Buck.

"Not to worry, though," Emma assured Superintendent Alcott, who had joined them in Berkshire. "We'll find them. He covered his tracks, but not well enough. We'll either find them or we'll find who he sold them to."

Alcott looked around, down at the pile of evidence and around at the officers swarming the farmhouse. His aquiline nose wrinkled in disgust. "Not as clever as he thought he was, now was he?"

"They never are, Guv, are they?"

Emma and Alcott smiled briefly at each other.

"Are you still making Westward squirm, then?" Alcott asked a second later. "Or have you interviewed him yet?"

Emma's smile grew brilliant. "No, Guv, that's the beauty of it! We'd certainly love to let him stew in his own juices for a bit, but actually, he can't get hold of his solicitor!"

"That Patrick Smithy fellow?"

"He's apparently incommunicado. Westward's absolutely furious. He won't let us interview him without a solicitor present and he refuses to let us appoint him a solicitor, so we're just in limbo till we get hold of Smithy."

"Bloody marvellous," grinned Alcott, his normally passive face lit up like a neon sign. "The bastard's got to wait it out and it's his own fault."

"We're enjoying it," Emma admitted. "Can't say he is, though."

Alcott shrugged. "They're not exactly four-star accommodations, but we don't care to roll out the red carpet for suspected murderers, do we?"

Emma looked around with a satisfied expression.

Alcott caught the look and was intrigued. "You seem pleased, Superintendent."

"It's that feeling I get; I can't describe it, really," she replied. "Just that feeling I get when things are drawing to a close. This warm sort of glow, I suppose."

"Ah yes, I know that feeling."

"Do you?"

"I wasn't always a permanent fixture behind a desk, Emma. I was out there, just like you are, in the thick of it all. I remember that feeling. It was a good feeling, as I recall."

"The best. I'm only sorry so many had to be lost before we caught Westward."

Alcott sighed in acknowledgement. "Yes, I agree. But you did the best you could, Emma. He led you a merry chase, but you stayed on top of it. No one could have done better." He smiled paternally. "I watch you, you know, much more closely than you realise. I've always been impressed by you, but these past several weeks I've been astonished. You've held your team together, you've kept your wits about you-"

"Oh, I don't know about that. I had a bit of breakdown along the way."

"Happens to the best of us. You've done an amazing job, Emma. You should be proud."

"I'm proud of my team."

"You should be proud of them as well," he nodded. "But don't be afraid to take pride in what you've accomplished. I don't think it would have happened without you." Another flash of a smile and then Alcott had turned and gone.

"He's right, you know." It was Sam, walking up behind her. "I overheard him, and he's right."

"I don't want to get too confident, Sam. The case isn't over yet."

"It will be, though, soon enough. And you've been amazing. This team looks to you for guidance, and you were there all along the way, right by their side. You're the reason this all came together."

Emma flushed with shyness. "Oh, stop..."

Sam threw his head back and pealed with laughter. "I can't wait to tell the boys I made you blush."

"You do and I'll kill you," she threatened.

"You can't. If you kill me you cheat yourself out of a great man."

She rolled her eyes and did not respond.

"Admit it, Shannon, you fancy me something rotten."

"I will admit that you are a complete and total git, but further than that I will not go."

They felt eyes on them and turned to see the huddled group of her officers, all with knowing grins on their faces. This time Sam blushed as well.

"Guv, I think you and I should have a little chat," Kid chided mockingly, folding his arms across his chest with the air of a disapproving schoolteacher. "A little chat about mixing personal lives with professional, hmm?" He was egged on by the chuckles of his co-workers. "I really expected more maturity out of you, Guv. In all the years we've worked together…"

Emma immediately recognised the same speech she had given Kid and Lou those many days ago. "Very funny, Kidwell."

"Get back to work," growled Sam. "We're sending a man to prison for life, we can't afford any slackers."

Their audience filtered away and the two lovers were once again left alone. They beamed thankfully at each other and stepped closer together.

"You did good with them, Emma, you know that, don't you?"

"I do. But it feels good to hear someone else say it."

"They really pulled together. It was amazing to see."

"It's not over yet. Westward hasn't been interviewed, Nan's still in hospital, there hasn't been a trial yet-"

"You worry too much. Didn't I just hear you tell Alcott you're getting that good, end-of-case feeling?"

"Yes. But I think I'll save the celebration until Westward has been sentenced."

Before Sam could respond, Noah Dixon burst into the hallway, his gloved hand outstretched, carrying one of the most enormous emeralds Emma had ever seen. It glittered and glowed like a living thing. "Say hello to Cecilia Harbury's African Waterfall emerald," he said. He was nearly dancing. "I don't think we'll have to wait long for that celebration, Guv."


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

_I'm coming, I'm coming home to you_

_I'm alive, I'm a mess_

_I can't wait to get home to you…_

_Nothing heals me like you do_

"London Rain" - Heather Nova

* * *

_T_he threat of incarceration had not quenched the fire in Julian Westward's eyes. As he sat in incident room "A," his posture was relaxed and casual, his long arms crossed over his chest, lazily insolent, as if all this was no more than an imposition. Beside him sat his newly hired solicitor, Jeremy Barton, a nervous-looking young man in his 30s with liquid blue eyes and a permanent twitch at one corner of his mouth-a temporary replacement until Patrick Smithy could return from Australia.

Barton looked extremely disconcerted. It was his first time in a police interrogation room, and it showed. Previously he had dealt only with large, stately courtrooms that gave one a sense of importance; the gritty, grey interiors of the Ladbroke Grove station were unsettling to his disposition.

They had been waiting for over an hour in this room, with its empty walls and sparse furnishings, its harsh neon lighting. They were seated at the small table at one side of the room, resting in the uncomfortable metal chairs. There were other chairs, empty, scattered around the room, a tape recorder built into the wall, and a large but unobtrusive mirror on the opposite wall. If Westward or Barton were aware that they were being watched they didn't show it.

From the other side of the mirror, Teaspoon Hunter watched the two men. Buck and Cody were at his sides, Ike settled in the back taking notes. They could hear everything, from the occasional scraping of the chairs across the floor to the low, tremulous sighs of Jeremy Barton. But nothing was being said. It was clear Westward didn't trust his young solicitor and after a few curt, brusque words directed at the man, he had said nothing further. Now they sat in silence.

"Where are Sam and Emma?" asked Cody.

"Taking their time," Teaspoon replied with evident satisfaction. "Making the man sweat it out."

Buck groaned. "I'm all for making the man suffer, but I want to see him pay."

"I couldn't agree with you more, son, but Sam and Emma know what they're doing." Teaspoon paused. "Only trouble is, it doesn't seem to be fazing him any. He's still cool as a cucumber."

"Bastard," Ike commented eloquently, never looking up from his writing.

Buck turned around to grin at him. "You're a man of few words, but the few you use are pretty succinct."

Ike paused long enough to flash a smile back. "You know what they say- "

"Still waters run deep?"

Ike's grin deepened. "No-speak softly and carry a big stick."

Their laughter was abruptly cut off by a motion of Teaspoon's hand. He and Cody were glued to the scene before them. The door to the interrogation room had opened.

The interview was about to begin.

Westward's green gaze narrowed as Kid, Sam, and Emma filed into the room, followed a moment later by Louise. "Need an entourage now, do we, Superintendent?" he drawled.

"No," Emma answered smoothly, settling into a chair across from him. "It's just that we'd all like to be present to see how the mighty have fallen." She smiled sweetly at him and spread her files across the table.

"That comment is beneath you, Superintendent." Westward's reply was typically swift, but for just a moment his eyes widened in surprise.

Sam, Kid, and Lou all smothered their grins and refrained from speaking. It was important to play their cards exactly right, not to reveal too much too soon, not to seem overly eager, and above all not to fall victim to Westward's mind games.

Emma began the tape. "This is Detective Superintendent Emma Shannon of the Area Major Incident Team, currently based out of Ladbroke Grove. The date is October 20, 1999, the time is 9.30. Also present are DCI Sam Cain of St John's Wood, as well as DI Andrew Kidwell and Lt Louise McCloud, both of the AMIT, both currently based out of Ladbroke Grove. We are interviewing Julian Westward in the presence of his solicitor, Jeremy Barton."

The moment she stopped speaking, Westward broke in. "And where is the overzealous young Lieutenant Hickok?" he asked with an exaggerated air of concern. He pretended to look around the room. "I don't see him tripping over Inspector Kenworthy's heels as usual."

Emma clenched her jaw so tightly she thought it would snap. Her spine stiffened in response to Westward's deliberate goading. Silently she counted to ten and then replied, "Lieutenant Hickok is with Inspector Kenworthy's family." Her voice was restrained. Lou was, for the hundredth time, amazed at Emma Shannon's incredible poise.

Westward's eyebrows raised. "So you've found Inspector Kenworthy. That means I can go."

"Whatever makes you think that, Mr Westward?" Sam asked in mock confusion.

Westward smiled condescendingly. "I have been accused of the kidnapping and possible murder of Inspector Kenworthy. Now that you've found her, I'm in the clear."

Oh, he was good, Kid thought. You almost had to give him credit for it. He was just as calm and serene as you please, pretending he believed Nan was alive while knowing her to be dead. 'Just you wait, Julian Westward, until you see what surprises we've got in store for you.'

Emma's head was tilted to one side as she inspected Westward. "Oh yes, we've 'found' her, Julian. We've found her body, in front of the police station in Uxbridge."

He gave a calculated pause and then shuddered dramatically. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry."

"No you're not," Emma shot back. "You're not sorry in the least, Julian. You're really quite pleased, aren't you?"

"How dare you presume-"

"How _dare_ I _presume_?" Emma was unable to stop herself from breaking in. She knew Nan to be alive and well, but it was vitally important to maintain the charade that she was dead. "How _dare_ I? If we're going to start talking about presumption, Julian, why don't we start with _you_? Why don't we start with your overwhelming presumption that you're so smart, so cunning, so bloody clever that you could never be caught? Why don't we start with that, eh?"

"Caught at _what_, Superintendent?" Westward asked coolly.

"Caught at _lies,_ Julian. Caught at deception and adultery; caught at fraud and embezzlement and theft and _murder_." The cadence of Emma's words quickened as she spoke. Her eyes were alight with challenge.

From behind the mirror, Teaspoon, Ike, Buck, and Cody were literally pressed to the glass, watching, waiting with bated breath.

"Damn, she's good," whispered Cody.

Ike beamed as if the compliment had been paid to him personally. "Told you," he whispered back, turning his attention once again to the scene before them.

For the first time Westward looked pale. For the first time his voice sounded unsteady. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do," interjected Sam. "Let's stop playing games, Julian."

Jeremy Barton cleared his throat and finally spoke up in defence of his client. "Kindly refrain from these innuendoes, Chief Inspector Cain. If you're going to accuse my client of something, then come right out and say it."

"I admire your frankness, Mr Barton," acknowledged Sam. "So I'll waste no more time." He turned to Westward and pointed a finger in his face. "You, Julian Westward, are accused of the murders of Robert Campbell, Ethan Cutler, Maurice Fitzhugh, and Rhees Carter, also-"

Another arrogant lift to the eyebrows. "All servants of some sort. Perhaps you'd like to add serial killer to my list of supposed crimes?" He gave Sam a nasty smile.

"Your flippancy does you no credit, Mr Westward," Kid spat out.

Westward turned to Kid, as if seeing him for the first time. A look bordering on appreciation gleamed in his eyes. "Well said, Inspector. My apologies."

Sam continued, "Also the murder of Eric Jeffries. In addition, you are charged with five counts of breaking and entering, five counts of grand theft, and five counts of unlawful trespassing."

"Do go on," prodded Westward.

"We are here today, Julian Westward, to charge you with these crimes," hissed Emma. "Do you dare take it so lightly? We're talking about _murder_, Julian. We're talking about six _lives_ that you took in cold blood, six people who are no longer with us because of your wickedness and avarice."

"Only six?" he sneered in response. "Are you not going to charge me with Inspector Kenworthy's death?"

For a moment the four officers only stared at him. Jeremy Barton was aghast at his client's bravado. "Julian, be quiet," he hissed.

Then Emma suddenly relaxed again. She shook her head at the young solicitor. "No, no, Mr Barton, your client has brought up a very interesting point." She fixed Westward with a look of utter contempt. 'All bets are off, you bastard,' she thought. 'No more holding back; I'm coming out with both fists flying.'

She rose from her chair, leaning over the table toward Julian with an impressively cold look in her eyes. She began to pace the small area, speaking as she walked. "You see, we have so much evidence capable of putting you away, Julian. Let's see," she said, and began to tick each item off on her fingers, "we have a statement from your former employer indicating the true nature of your departure from LaChaille Investments. We have a statement from your ex-wife Rachel Dunne, confirming your violent nature. We have several pieces of jewellery from Ms Dunne that can be traced back to their original owners-owners from whom, I might add, those very same jewels were taken. We have two scraps of material found at two separate crime scenes, upon which forensic have discovered particles of your hair follicles, Julian."

Emma stopped and leaned against a wall, crossing her arms nonchalantly. "Let's see, what else? We have Nigel Atherton in a room next door, ready to sign over a confession in exchange for a less unsavoury prison term. A most accommodating man, Mr Atherton-or should I say, Appleton? Hmm…Oh yes, we also have Christopher Astley's statement. Do you remember Christopher Astley, Julian? Both you and your wife were willing to swear that he was a mate of yours you'd dined with on the night of September 16th, effectively placing you out of suspicion during Ursula and Dean Truman's dinner party." Emma waved a finger at Westward. "For shame, Julian. You really ought to know better than to tell such fibs. The moment we located Mr Astley-who, by the way, has been living in Italy for the past six months and was _most _interested to hear he had dined with you in September-he was quite willing to denounce your claims."

Westward had reached out to grasp the edges of the table before him. He looked as if he was going to be sick. As each sentence tumbled from Emma's lips, he grew paler and paler. All condescension and arrogance had been wiped clean from his face.

Emma watched him react to her statements with no small amount of satisfaction. She could see that Sam was anxious to jump in, but she couldn't let him-not just yet. This victory was far too sweet to be shared. She crossed back to the table and stood there for a moment.

Finally she said, "Of course, as damning as all that may be, it is still, if only to a certain extent, circumstantial. With the right solicitor, you could maybe even beat it. And you're capable of hiring the right solicitor, aren't you, Julian? Mr Barton may not be particularly impressive-if you'll forgive me for saying so, Mr Barton-but with your money and your contacts, it wouldn't be a problem to hire someone who is, now would it? And that's where we bring in our secret weapons, Julian."

Westward's mouth opened but no sound came out. For once the man was well and truly speechless. Kid, Lou, and Sam wanted to stand up and dance for joy, but managed not to.

"Your secret weapons, Superintendent?" asked Jeremy Barton. He was entranced by Emma's speech, mesmerised by the rapid-fire delivery of her words.

Emma dug quickly into the file lying in front of her. She withdrew a thick stack of papers and slapped them down on the table, tapping a finger hard against the pile. "That, Julian, is weapon number one-a signed statement from Victoria Dillon-Westward, formerly Colette Gordon. A statement swearing to not only her knowledge of your criminal activities, Julian, but also to her participation in them." She paused long enough to let this sink in. She had never before known such a feeling of victory. And the most rewarding of all was yet to come. With a quick glance in Kid's direction, Emma nodded subtly and seated herself again.

It was Kid's cue. He remained standing where he was and said, "I think perhaps what will really destroy your case, Julian, is Inspector Kenworthy herself."

"What about her?" Jeremy Barton asked, speaking where his client could not.

Westward stared helplessly at Kid. The look on his face said it all: everything was falling apart right in front of him, and he was utterly powerless to stop it. He still could say nothing.

"You see, we found her body, Julian," Kid went on. "Beaten, battered, almost unrecognisable. At first she was thought to be dead..." He let his words hang heavily in the air.

And then Westward gasped loudly, utterly stricken. One word escaped his lips, a stupefied, incredulous, "_What?_"

"I _said_," Kid raised his voice purposefully, "she was _thought_ to be _dead._" He smiled. "But she isn't dead, Julian. She's very much alive. And she's very much a credible witness."

It was all over, and Julian Westward knew it, could feel it in the triumph of the four officers surrounding him. He slumped in the chair and tried to remember the dizzying turn of events that had taken place in the small span of these twenty minutes. He ran trembling hands through his black hair and suddenly looked very old.

"May I get a breath of air?" he rasped.

"Mr Westward has requested a short break," Emma said into the machine. "This interview will continue in 15 minutes."

Behind the mirror, Ike was beaming while Cody and Buck shook hands in enthusiastic relief. Teaspoon was still standing at the glass, looking into the interview room. For the first time a thought flashed through his head; a thought that he could at last vocalise, knowing it to be true.

"We got him," he said. "By God, I do believe it's over."

* * *

_I_n typical Nan fashion, she insisted on being let out of bed much sooner than the doctors would allow. And though she refused all but the barest minimum of painkillers and every step was filled with pain, she walked from her bed to the chair by the window with every appearance of enjoyment.

She was sitting there with Jimmy by her side when the phone rang. He answered it, and she could tell from his side of the conversation that he was talking to Emma and that she had good news. Better than good, in fact; unless her ears deceived her, Julian Westward was about to go to prison for a very long time.

The enthusiasm in Jimmy's voice reached a crescendo and by the time he hung up the phone he was nearly apoplectic at the news. He sank down onto his knees in front of Nan and seized her hands.

"We got him, sweetheart," he said simply.

Nan looked into his happy face and tried to muster up some of the exhilaration he was feeling. She couldn't even manage a feeling of relief. "Really?" she whispered.

Jimmy nodded. "Really."

"I don't know if I can believe it quite yet."

"That's all right; I'll believe it for both of us."

"It just seems so sudden."

"Sudden? This case has been going on for weeks!"

"I know. It seems longer, actually. It's just that it seems we've caught him too easily."

"All right, that's it. I'm putting you back in your bed."

"What? Why?" she exclaimed as he stood suddenly to lift her into his arms.

"You're obviously delirious. Did you say we caught him too _easily_? You must be out of your mind!"

Nan giggled, nestling her head closer to Jimmy's, liking the feel of being carried in his arms. He laid her gently back down on the unrelenting hospital bed. "Oh Jimmy," she sighed.

"Oh Nan," he sighed teasingly back. He squeezed the tip of her nose between his fingers. "You're pretty cute even if you are a little crazy."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her. She looked fervently into his eyes. "It just feels as if we've been chasing him forever, Jimmy; he's been this elusive thing, always just beyond our grasp. We're always right at his heels, but he's always two steps ahead. And now we've caught him..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes dimming and going soft with introspection.

Jimmy pressed a kiss to her lips. "Listen to me, sweetheart-_nothing_ about this case was easy. All right?"

"It feels like it can get taken away from us, Jimmy," she replied desperately.

"Hey, listen to me." He smoothed the hair away from her forehead, kissing her temples tenderly. "This isn't the movies. There isn't going to be some big, dramatic moment where the villain escapes. This is real life. We've got him. He's in prison. He'll go to trial. You'll testify against him. He'll be put away for good. We'll all live happy lives."

Nan looked away from his earnest face. Happy lives. That was something else that was bothering her—in a few months, Jimmy was going to be thousands of miles away. How could she live a happy life without him now that she knew she loved him?

"Nan, what is it?"

"I'm just thinking."

"Take it easy now. You did receive quite a blow to the head."

She looked at him in shock. "I can't believe you'd stoop so low as to making fun of my condition. Do you have any idea how much pain I'm in, James Hickok?"

The teasing expression dropped from Jimmy's face. He grew serious. "I was just kidding, Nan. It was just a joke, I sw-" He caught the devilish twinkle in her eyes. "_Very_ funny."

"You're such an easy target, Jimmy, I couldn't resist! You should have seen the look on your face!"

"It's not my fault I'm a sucker for big blue eyes and an accent."

Nan snorted. "You'd better watch yourself around Kid, then."

"Okay, you're going to pay for that!" He tackled her, gently pinning her arms at her sides, covering her face with kisses.

Nan burst into laughter.

Jimmy pulled away with a defeated sigh. "You know, you're a really hard woman to romance, Nan Kenworthy."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh," she soothed.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Don't pretend!"

She ran a hand up his arm. "Jimmy, do you recall a conversation we had a week or two ago? About never being a 'nice' couple? About being one of those couples always at each other's throats?"

Jimmy grinned. "Yes, I recall that conversation."

"I like us that way," she said seriously. "I like the teasing and the sarcasm and the bickering. That's the way I am. I couldn't change if I wanted to. And you accept that."

He thought back to Will on the phone that morning, telling him Nan needed someone who would adore her but see her faults, someone to laugh with, someone to argue with, someone to match her strength and vulnerability. He was humbled to think he might possibly be that man.

"I suppose I'm scared, Jimmy."

"I'm here. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Not again."

"That doesn't stop me from being scared sometimes," she replied honestly. "I can't stop thinking of what he did...the things he did to me."

Jimmy's pulse raced. "I know, honey. But you're strong. You'll get through this."

"I don't want him to be able to hurt anyone else."

"All I'm worried about is you, Nan. I almost lost you. I thought I _had_ lost you."

She was beginning to look tired. "But I'm here," she murmured.

"Yes, you're here. And I'm here with you." 'But for how long?' he wondered.

The one thought foremost in his mind was the one thought he was terrified to mention: what would happen when he was sent back to New York? He couldn't ask Nan to leave England, her family was here, she loved it. And he couldn't bear to go back without her by his side.

Her lids were drooping over her eyes-those beautiful, dark blue eyes he loved. She was staying awake for longer periods of time now, but she still exhausted easily. Her mouth fell at the corners, her breathing taking on the easy rhythm of sleep.

"I have to go to the station," he whispered.

Nan nodded sleepily in acquiescence. "Mm-hmm," she murmured.

"Your Granddad and Paulie will be by in a few minutes."

"...Okay."

"I love you."

Her eyes flew open and she smiled angelically, her charm suddenly hitting him like a fist. The overwhelming sweetness of her nature was shining through, unfettered by her usual, inherent flashes of fire. "I love you too," she whispered.

At the door, Jimmy stopped to watch her as she fell into peaceful slumber. The bruises were fading, the cuts healing over, and she could breathe without as much trouble as before. But there was still so far to go.

Outside Jimmy hailed a taxi and instructed it to take him to the Ladbroke Grove station. He settled into the warm, plush interior and stared at the streets as they passed by in a blur.

It was time to have his own little chat with Julian Westward.


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

_Lights will guide you home_

_and ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you_

"Fix You" - Coldplay

* * *

_T_he entire Area Major Incident Team was clustered in the incident room when Jimmy arrived. He looked from face to face, recognizing his own excitement. The moment he stepped into the room, everyone began to shout questions at him.

"How are yeh, Jimmy?"

"How's Nan doing?"

"We saved Westward for you. Think you're up to it?"

"Yeah, Jimmy, do you think you're ready?"

Jimmy grinned at his friends. "Ready, willing, and able."

Teaspoon came forward and placed both his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, looking him full in the face with the expression that always gave Jimmy the feeling the man was able to stare straight through him.

Teaspoon fixed his young protégé with a squinty eye. "Now you listen to me, James Hickok. I know you fancy yourself quite the romantic hero right now; this man did bad things to your woman and now you've got the opportunity to even the balance. But just you remember what you're dealing with here. Just you remember that much as you love her, this isn't all about Nan. This is about the many, many people that man has hurt." Teaspoon released his hold on Jimmy and stood back, still watching him carefully. "Now Emma Shannon has done you a great service allowing you to be present when the interview starts again, don't go making her regret that decision. Don't go in there showing you're out for blood. Remember who you are, remember why you're there. Make her proud. Make Nan proud. Hell, make yourself proud. All right, son?"

Jimmy nodded mutely. Something about Teaspoon in this mood-something about Teaspoon calling him 'son' in that voice so full of trust-always got to him. He nodded again and swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins receded. He felt instead the full weight of the matter, a tremendous sense of responsibility. But he knew he couldn't guarantee he could keep his temper in check.

Then Teaspoon patted him affectionately on the side of the face and winked at him. "Now go get him, tiger. Let's make that bastard sorry he was ever born."

Jimmy had to laugh at the abrupt change in Teaspoon's attitude. "I'll do my best," he assured him.

Teaspoon winked. "I know you will."

"Come on, Hickok, it's time," urged Sam. He and Emma were standing at the door expectantly. "We can't keep our guest waiting."

Jimmy looked over at Kid. "Aren't you coming?"

"Nope." Kid shook his head, a smile plastered to his face. "The pleasure's all yours, Lieutenant."

Jimmy hesitated for a moment. Over the past several weeks Kid had become something of a support system for him, always encouraging, always the perfect counterbalance to Jimmy's own sensibilities. He had grown used to working side by side with Kid. But after a moment he nodded in acknowledgement and patted Kid on the back. Maybe it was best for him to do this on his own.

He thought he had prepared himself, but as he entered the interview room, he realised he wasn't at all prepared to see Westward again. The last time he had laid eyes on the man had been the day they had brought him into the station, seconds before Teaspoon had pulled him out of the incident room to tell him Nan was alive-seconds before Jimmy was poised to let his fists fly into Westward's face. The next couple of days had been spent at Nan's side. Now it was time to face the man again.

Sam and Emma walked through first. Jimmy paused by the door to count slowly to ten before inhaling deeply and following them in. The moment his eyes rested on Westward, he knew that all the deep breaths and counting and patience in the world weren't going to help him. His skin was crawling at the sight of the man; his overwhelming urge to hurt him was even stronger now, if such a thing was possible. That arrogant, cocky face was begging for his fist.

But Westward didn't look quite so cocky anymore, and the arrogance was almost gone. Instead, while he didn't seem in the least remorseful or repentant, he did at least have the grace to look defeated. When he saw Jimmy his posture stiffened in anticipation, but for once a cutting little remark did not follow.

As Emma began the interview again, delivering a quick introduction to the tape, Jimmy and Westward stared at each other: Jimmy's gaze full of triumph and defiance, Westward's of something close to resignation.

There was silence for several minutes. Sam and Emma watched Westward and Jimmy stare each other down. Jeremy Barton's eyes darted skittishly from one place to another. His palms were damp and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously. He was totally out of his league here. His mind raced as he tried frantically to decide what to do. During the fifteen-minute break that had stretched into nearly an hour, Julian had been of little assistance, refusing to answer any of Jeremy's questions.

"All-all right," Jeremy Barton said, finally breaking the silence that was destroying his nerves. All heads turned toward him and he pulled at the tie around his neck. "Here's-here's what we can offer-"

"Are you trying to _bargain_ with us?" DCI Cain asked sharply, and Jeremy knew immediately that he had tried the wrong tactic.

"No, no, no, of course not," he lied.

"It _sounded_ as if you were trying to bargain," added Emma in a harsh, reproving voice.

"No. No bargaining," insisted Jeremy.

Jimmy followed hard on his declaration. "Because what could you really offer in exchange for the lives this man has taken, Mr Barton? Do you understand the damage he has done? And we're not just talking about these past few months; we're talking about years ago-people whose names you've never even heard, people whose names your client probably doesn't even remember. Does he deserve leniency, Mr Barton, is that what you're trying to tell us?"

Jeremy bristled. "See here, Lieutenant, I have been appointed to represent Mr Westward and that is what I intend to do. My client has not admitted to any wrongdoing despite these accusations, and he-"

"For God's sake, 'wrongdoing,' is that what you call it? He told me he murdered Anna Kenworthy!"

Everyone stopped abruptly to stare at Jimmy, his explosive words still lingering in the air. Emma and Sam looked utterly stupefied. This was the first they'd heard of this.

"Jimmy, what the hell are you talking about?" hissed Emma.

"He _told_ me he'd killed Nan. That day in Berkshire when we brought him in-I was handcuffing him and he said, 'I killed her and you'll never be able to prove it.'" Jimmy whipped his head around to Westward once more, his glare laser-intense and so fierce it seemed to give off sparks. "Didn't you? _Didn't you?_" he roared.

"I don't believe I ever said such a thing."

"_Liar!_" Jimmy shot out of his chair so fast it was all Sam could do to hold him back. "You're a goddamned liar, Westward! You _told_ me you'd killed her!"

Westward turned to Emma, ignoring Jimmy as easily as if the accusation had been a whisper. "I really question your judgement, Superintendent, in allowing Lieutenant Hickok to be present. Obviously his personal feelings for Inspector Kenworthy are affecting his reasoning."

"I'll be the judge of that," she shot back furiously.

"I think I'd like to bring this matter before a higher power," he replied in breezy tones. "It's quite unprofessional to involve the woman's lover. I'd prefer if the third officer were someone just a _bit_ more impartial.""

Now it was Sam who burst, slamming both hands on the table so hard it shook, his hair falling around his eyes. "Nobody's asking for your _opinion!_ I'll tell you something, Westward, you'd have a hell of a time finding someone within the LMPF who's impartial to Anna Kenworthy. We will do our duty regardless of our personal feelings. The issue right now is-did you or did you _not _say those words to Lieutenant Hickok?"

Clearly Westward saw nothing to be gained by pressing his point further. "_Whatever_ I said to Lieutenant Hickok in Berkshire is inadmissible, Chief Inspector. "

"And just how do you figure that?"

"Because I had not yet been read my rights. PACE decrees that a suspect must be read their rights, and I was not."

This stunning reply once again thoroughly silenced the officers.

"In fact, I was not read my rights until we arrived at the Berkshire station."

"That's a damn lie-"

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, but if you will recall, the rather grizzled officer, whose name now escapes me, _began_ to read them to me and was interrupted."

Jimmy's face screwed up in thought as he frantically searched his memory. He knew it was a lie-it had to be a lie...but as he searched harder, the moment came back to him, and he remembered Teaspoon beginning the familiar litany of rights, and then-

"_You_ interrupted him!" Jimmy pointed a shaking finger.

"Hickok, relax," cautioned Sam.

"It was _you_!" He could hardly contain his anger.

"Hickok, listen to me-" Sam reached out to pull Jimmy's arm back, forced to use all his strength, hardly a match for the younger man's rage. "_Listen_ to me, Hickok! It doesn't matter. All right? It doesn't matter! It's only hearsay, anyway. He's been given his rights since then; we can get him now. We have Nan as a witness. Okay?"

Jimmy seemed to steadily calm down, though his heart was still racing. The memory of what this man had done to Nan was one that came in constant, uncontrollable waves, washing over him unrelentingly when he least expected it. He had never before felt the desire to kill someone; he was feeling it now.

"Unbelievable." Sam was shaking his head in frustration. He fixed Westward with a narrow glare. "Are you going to fight this, Westward? Is that what you're going to do? Now that you've been caught, now that your back's up against the wall, you're going to come out swinging? You have no one and you have nothing. Your own wife has turned against you. Angelina Cyrus has done a runner; she's nowhere to be found. You have no chance."

At last Westward spoke. His voice was the same cool apathy, but lacked the sharp bitterness it usually bore. "I intend to exercise my rights, Chief Inspector Cain. That's what I intend to do."

"You _murdered_ six innocent people!" exclaimed Emma, slapping her hands down on the table emphatically. "You did your damnedest to murder Inspector Kenworthy! And you want to exercise your _rights_?"

"My client is innocent until proven otherwise!"

Emma turned her fury on the watery-eyed Jeremy Barton. She was magnificent in her anger-curly hair flying, eyes blazing, emotion thick in her voice. "We have a witness, Mr Barton! Inspector Kenworthy will be signing a written statement as soon as she's out of hospital-the hospital _your_ client exercised his right to _put_ her in!"

"Now, Superintendent-"

"We've got signed statements from your client's accomplice and his _wife_, Mr Barton!" interjected Jimmy. "We're _this_ close to tracking down Angelina Cyrus, who can testify as to what your _client_ did to Inspector Kenworthy. One phone call to Renée Greer and we'll learn all we ever needed to know about his _other_ extracurricular activities. And those are just the details. We've got what we really need."

"Then why am I sitting here?" asked Westward. "Why are we bothering with the details, Lieutenant? In your eyes I've already been tried and convicted-"

"You're damn right you have!"

"So why am I sitting here? Are we just going through the motions, is that it? If so, we're wasting both my time and yours." Westward leaned forward over the table, arms still crossed. Jeremy Barton may as well have been a fly on the wall for all the attention that was paid to him. "If you think I'm going to let this _boy_ represent me," Westward growled, jerking a thumb in Barton's direction, "you most definitely have another think coming, Lieutenant. I refuse to say anything further until Patrick Smithy-my _real_ solicitor-is here to represent me."

"But he's in _Australia_, Julian!" pleaded Barton. "That's a twenty-four hour flight back! We're talking about adding two, three days at the least!" He was desperate. His pride was as much at stake as his reputation within the firm of Smithy & Smithy.

"I don't care if he's on Mars. I'm not answering any questions until Patrick Smithy is here to represent me."

Sam and Emma exchanged a quick glance.

"Can we allow that, Emma?"

"There's no harm in it," she quickly conceded. "If Mr Westward wishes to spend the next few days in police custody, then that's his prerogative."

Westward gaped at her. "Police custody?"

"Oh yes, indeed." Emma pretended to be taken aback. Her expression was one of exaggerated surprise. "Oh-did you think you were just going to go back to your cosy little mansion for a bit of a kip, while we escorted Mr Smithy back into the country?" She laughed derisively. "No, Mr Westward, you'll be accompanied by some of London's finest to a hotel right here in our fair city."

"This is-" Westward began, but Jimmy immediately cut him off.

"This is perfectly legal is what it is," he said.

"We'd stick you in a cell," added Sam, "but we're a little crowded right now. You'd have to share, and those men would eat you alive." His eyes gleamed in delight at the prospect. "You'll be safer in a hotel."

"And who will be accompanying me?"

Emma rose again and spoke to the man dismissively. "Let us worry about that, Mr Westward. I can assure you that we'll do our very best to find exceptional officers who bear you not the slightest grudge regarding Inspector Kenworthy." She smiled brightly and utterly insincerely. "This interview is now terminated at 12.47." She switched the tape off, then looked expectantly at Jimmy. His eyes were barely subdued slits of hate, the thin line of his mouth uncompromising. The very set of his posture promised confrontation at the least provocation. He was a powder keg waiting to explode at the slightest spark.

"In the meantime...Lieutenant, would you please see Mr Westward to his cell?"

* * *

_J_immy stared down at red, raw knuckles, running the pad of his finger along the swollen skin there. He had forgotten how much it hurt to hit a man. A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. '_Or how good it felt_,' he thought, replaying the images in his mind again and again: Westward thrown against the wall, Westward trying to protect his face, Westward doubled over in agony, Westward with blood pouring from his nose. Jimmy's smile grew broader, and as he strode down the hospital corridors he began to whistle.

'No matter what kind of punishment I earn,' he told himself, 'it was worth it.'

The door to Nan's hospital room was open, the pale afternoon light streaming in through the windows. It was bitterly cold outside and the light corresponded with the frigidity of the temperature. When he walked in Nan was standing at the window, fully dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face in a drooping bun. She turned at the sound of Jimmy's footsteps and her smile warmed his insides like a cup of hot cocoa. He turned to mush at the sight of her.

"Hi there," he rasped, his voice cracking like a lovesick teenager in the throes of puberty.

"You look pretty pleased with yourself."

"I am," he replied smugly.

"Might it have anything to do with those red knuckles I can see from all the way over here?"

"How did you get so damn smart?"

Nan smiled softly. "Louise stopped by after you left and told me you were in the interview room. It was a safe bet." She paused. Her question came out hesitantly. "Got him good, did you?"

"He never even saw it coming."

She didn't reply, but bit her lower lip and looked back out the window.

"Nan, are you angry with me?"

"I know I should be," she said after a moment. "After all, it was a barbaric, self-servingly macho thing to do. I'm not some helpless little woman who needs you to fight my battles for me, et cetera, et cetera." Her words came out automatically, as if she were reading them from a textbook. "I'm a strong woman, capable of taking care of myself."

Then a grin crept into her voice, warming it like sunshine. "I should be very angry with you, in fact." She tossed him a coy smile over her shoulder. "But I'm not. A little miffed that I wasn't there to see it, maybe, but quite pleased on the whole."

Jimmy threw his head back and laughed. He drew Nan into his arms, pulling her up against his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder as they both stared out the window into the grey afternoon.

"The doctor says I can go home today."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Your grandfather asked me to bring you home."

"Dear old Granddad. I suppose he's quite forgiven you?"

"He loves me. We're hatching a plan together to spring Westward from jail and exercise our civic duty-if you know what I mean."

Nan giggled and swatted him playfully on the elbow. "So long as I can be there."

"We can't afford to implicate you," he replied, his lips lingering at her neck. "You'll have to be our character witness."

"I don't know that I could say anything very helpful about _your_ character, Lieutenant Hickok."

"Now you know that's not true. As I recall, you had several good things to say about me that last night we spent together..."

Nan burst into outraged laughter. To his utter amusement her cheeks turned bright red. She ducked her gaze to avert his eyes and blushed further.

"I can't remember the last time I saw a woman blush," he exclaimed teasingly.

"Louise did this afternoon, when I called her on her sleeping with Kid."

"_Are_ they sleeping together?" Jimmy stopped to ponder it for a moment. He had been so wrapped up in all things concerning Nan that in the past several weeks he hadn't given much thought to Kid and Lou. He had noticed their romance, of course-he would have had to be completely devoid of all five senses not to notice that-but beyond that he hadn't given it much thought. As he considered Nan's statement, it occurred to him that he was really, well and truly, over Louise. The subject need never come into question again. There was no longer the slightest doubt in his mind.

"...Jimmy?"

"Hmm?"

"When Louise was here today, she said something..."

He hugged her tighter, sniffing at her skin. She smelled clean and fresh. He was intoxicated by her. "What did she say?" he asked as an afterthought.

"She said she never imagined you would fall for someone like me." As she spoke Nan remembered Lou sitting across from her, that friendly sparkle in her dark brown eyes. '_You're just the opposite of what I expected him to fall for,_' she had said, sounding perplexed but pleased. She was obviously thrilled at Jimmy's choice, but the nagging reminder that she was so different from Lou herself rankled Nan.

"Well honey, I don't imagine Lou's ever given my love life as much serious thought as I have."

"She's so beautiful, Jimmy."

"Who, Lou?"

"Yes, Lou. And she's smart and considerate and funny-"

He was thoughtful but missed the point entirely. "Yes, she's all of those things."

"And then there's me-"

Realisation hit him suddenly. "What? You're not all of those things?"

"I'm twice as tall-"

"I like being able to look my woman in the eye."

"I'm not as sweet as she is-"

"Says who?"

"I have a dreadful temper-"

He grinned. "Obviously you've never seen Lou mad. You're a walk in the park in comparison."

"I'm very sarcastic-"

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

"We can't even have a conversation without winding each other up-"

"That's kind of my favourite part. Well, next to the making up afterward."

"Will you_ stop_ interrupting me?"

"I can't help it." His grin grew broader. "You're adorable when you're like this." He kissed the tip of her nose and squeezed her closely.

"Don't patronise me! I'm trying to make a _point_!"

"No, what you're trying to do is convince me that I made the wrong choice when I chose to be with you. So let me start off by correcting you. Because first of all, it wasn't a _choice_. I no more chose to fall in love with you than I chose to fall out of love with Lou."

Nan pondered this and frowned, head tilted to one side. "I don't know that that's especially flattering."

He hugged her tighter. "Will you shut up? My point is that it's not a choice. I love you. God help me, I'm crazy about you. And even if it was a choice, I'd _choose _to be with _you_. Stop comparing yourself to Lou. Pretend I never even loved her. Pretend you're the only one. Because you are, Nan. You're the only one. I'm meant to be with you. I've given up fighting it; you should too."

For the first time in a long time, Nan felt as if she could breath freer. Her arms slipped around Jimmy's neck, hands clasping together. She pressed her lips to his.

"You worry too much," he said, breathless from her kisses.

"I just have a hard time believing something as good as you can really be mine." One hand stroked at the back of his neck, threading through his hair, her eyes searching all over his face. Her feelings for Jimmy scared her, and the thought that he could be taken away from her scared her even more. Sometimes it was easier to talk herself out of wanting something so much, rather than face the possibility of losing it.

"You're insane if you think-" But Jimmy got no further, for she was kissing him again. Their bodies were melding together, every nerve throbbing, every inch of skin humming with energy. His rapid heartbeat was met by Nan's own. He was contemplating locking the door and finding out just how comfortable the hospital bed was, when they were made aware of a presence in the room.

Or rather two. It was Lou and Kid, looking very entertained.

Lou nudged Kid and pretended to fan her face. "Is it a little hot in here, Kid?"

"Oh yeah," he replied, immediately playing along. "It's kind of steamy." He pulled at the collar of his crisp white dress shirt.

"I wasn't aware this hospital had a sauna, were you, Kid?"

"No, Lou, I sure wasn't."

Jimmy and Nan broke apart, glaring at their friends. "Aren't you clever," commented Jimmy.

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Jimmy?" asked Lou, as if vastly surprised.

"More than a note," added Kid. His blue eyes were practically shining. "Jimmy, I knew you'd spent a lot of time with Nan, but you actually seem to be developing her personality traits. That's just amazing!"

Nan hobbled back to the bed and picked up the crutches that lay against it. She used one to lean on and the other to reach out and whack Kid on the shoulder with. "That's enough out of _you_, Andrew Kidwell. _We're_ not the ones who got caught in the file room by Superintendent Alcott, now are we?"

The smiles were wiped from both faces. Their reaction was one of instantaneous embarrassment. Both turned interesting shades of red. Kid looked down at the floor and began to shuffle his feet. Lou kicked at an imaginary spot on the tiles.

"How did you know about that?" she asked.

"Let's just say I have my sources."

"Let's just say I have a big mouth," Jimmy said devilishly.

"Well, I can explain," offered Kid.

Nan adjusted her crutches and smirked. "Oh, do go on. If you've got a reasonable explanation for why the highest-ranking officer at our station discovered you playing tonsil hockey in the file room, I'd love to hear it."

"_Tonsil_ hockey?" was Kid's incredulous reply.

"I have a teenaged cousin, Kid, I can't help it if it creeps into my vocabulary now and again."

"Well," challenged Lou, "we're not the ones who were about to commit indecent exposure in a hospital room."

Jimmy shrugged. "Ten seconds more and I'd have had that door locked. We wouldn't be having this conversation. I'd be doing something infinitely more interesting."

"I think you're embarrassing your girlfriend," Kid pointed out helpfully. Nan was again blushing from the roots of her hair, apparently speechless.

"Let's go. This conversation is definitely getting X-rated." Lou shook her head and laced her fingers with Kid's. "We'll be waiting in the cab. Hurry up, you two."

"Hurry up? Are we all going somewhere?" asked Nan after Kid and Lou had gone.

Jimmy put a finger to his lips. "Shh. You have to act surprised."

"Oh no. Oh no. Jimmy, what's going on?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

Her gaze narrowed. "I don't think I believe you."

"Just a little celebration of sorts."

"Oh Jimmy..."

"Come on, Nan, trust me."

"You're always asking me to trust you and you never give me any reason to," she protested.

"Nan." His broad hands gripped her hips. His eyes were unwavering. A smile played about his lips. "Trust me. You'll love it."

She couldn't refuse. It would have been a lie anyway. "All right," she nodded. "I trust you."

And then he picked up her bag and kissed her again, leading her from the room and out of the hospital, to the cab where Kid and Lou were waiting.


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

_The sky was hidden by the mist_

_But just like magic when we kissed_

_The moon and stars were shining all around_

_And London bridge came tumbling down_

"London Bridge" – Jo Stafford

* * *

_M_uch to Nan's dismay-and the amusement of Kid and Lou-Jimmy insisted on carrying her into her grandfather's house. He left her bag and crutches to Kid, ignored her protests, and swept her into his arms in a gesture that would have made Errol Flynn proud.

Nan flailed about like a child in the throes of a temper tantrum. "James Hickok," she hissed, "you put me down this instant! You'll kill us both!"

"Nonsense," puffed Jimmy as he struggled his way up the stairs. "You're light as a-_oof!-_feather." His foot missed the next step by several inches, landing shakily back on the step below. He teetered precariously on the edge for a moment before steadying and continuing on.

Behind him Kid and Lou were barely able to suppress their snickers.

"I'm _perfectly_ capable of walking-"

"Hobbling," interrupted Jimmy.

"-into my grandfather's house!"

"You need to be off your feet as much as possible."

Nan stilled, shaking her head in a mixture of resignation and enjoyment. "I give up. Have it your way, then." She curled her arm around his neck and tried not to laugh as he navigated the stairs. While by no means a stick figure, she knew her lanky frame gave the impression that she _was_ light as a feather; to have Jimmy find out otherwise was highly amusing. And to feel warm, welcome safety was yet another reason to cease protesting.

When he reached the door, Jimmy stopped and turned to Kid and Lou expectantly. "Well?" he prompted, jerking his head in the door's direction.

With another snort of laughter, Kid darted forward to pull the door open, and Jimmy and Nan passed through. The house seemed empty.

Nan pressed her lips to Jimmy's ear. "What's going on?" she whispered.

"Just be patient."

"Why?" They were moving down the hall. Kid and Lou had overtaken them, disappearing around the corner. Nan seemed oblivious to the whispers and stifled laughter filtering into the hall.

"Quit asking questions! And quit whispering in my ear-it tickles!"

Nan laughed softly. "All right, I'll be good."

"You'll like it," he murmured in response. "I promise."

"Is it my favourite dinner?"

"Better."

"Did I win the Met's most outstanding officer award?" she asked with a sly grin.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Better."

They were nearing the back parlour. "Is it something pretty?" she continued, like a child guessing at birthday presents. "Is it something I can wear? Is it the-" Her prattling ceased, breaking off as they entered the room. Her jaw dropped and she seemed momentarily speechless.

Jimmy carefully set Nan back on the ground, sliding her slowly down till her feet were planted firmly. Someone handed her her crutches. All was suddenly silent.

The room was decorated within an inch of its life and packed with people. From one wall to another, familiar faces sprang out at her: Cody, Buck, Noah, Emma and Sam, Pete, Superintendent Alcott, Iain Langley...on and on down the line; virtually everyone she'd worked with during her tenure at AMIT. Rachel Dunne was there with Teaspoon by her side. Irene Burrows from the Uxbridge station. Geoff was there, looking splendid as usual, with the elusive Dru, a stunning blond, by his side. Both of them were beaming at her. Her grandfather and uncle and cousin were clustered together.

There was a tall, blond man she didn't recognise, but who gazed at her with amazement in his eyes. He was the first to step forward, extending his hand to her. No one said anything as he did, but everyone watched him with the same expression of awe that Nan couldn't hope to understand.

"How do you do, Inspector?" he said shakily, his words heavily accented. He was staring at her as if she were a miracle.

Nan could hardly find her voice, still stunned. "How do you do."

"You don't know who I am." It was a statement, not a question. He smiled kindly.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't." Nan glanced over her shoulder to see that Jimmy looked as confused as she did.

Teaspoon came forward then and slipped an arm around the man's shoulders, his smile wide with appreciation. "Anna Kenworthy, may I introduce to you your saviour? If it hadn't been for this man here...well, I don't think any of us want to think about it."

The confusion on Nan's face cleared as Teaspoon's words registered within. Suddenly she realised just who this man was and a feeling of deep thankfulness overwhelmed her. Her dark blue eyes filled with tears and her lower lip began to tremble. "Mr-Mr Skarsgård?"

Johan Skarsgård smiled at her, the humble smile of one who had done a good deed and recognised it only as something that had brought happiness to others. "Please, call me Johan."

Nan clasped his hand harder, taking it in both of hers, her eyes intense on his face. "I don't know what to say-how to thank you." Jimmy was behind her, his hand on her waist, and the tightness of his grip told her he was feeling the same.

Johan only smiled still deeper, and said, "Do not thank me for anything. I did nothing."

"You did _everything,_" Jimmy said huskily, not quite trusting his own voice as it caught in his throat. "If it hadn't been for you..." He couldn't finish the words. 'If it hadn't been for you, she _would_ have died there.'

"Mere circumstances. Nothing more," Johan insisted pleasantly.

Jimmy shook his head. "It was more, Mr Skarsgård."

Johan seemed ready to protest again, to plead circumstance, but then something stopped him. He saw Jimmy holding onto Nan as if he would never let her go; he saw the faces of all the people who loved this young woman; he felt that love as a tangible thing. "Yes," he said finally, nodding. "I did a good thing."

Unable to stop herself, Nan catapulted forward and flung her arms around him, embracing him tightly to her. As if it were the cue everyone had been waiting for, cheers broke out in the crowd and the silence was broken. Everyone took their turn hugging and kissing Nan, exclaiming over her, asking after her health, and generally making her homecoming exhausting but happy.

Nan moved to the edge of the room, leaning up against the wall with her crutches at her side, watching the goings-on in front of her with a faint smile. She watched Teaspoon and Rachel in one corner, heads together, murmuring softly to one another as they sipped their glasses of champagne. Teaspoon reached up to brush away a curly lock of Rachel's hair in a tender, heart-melting gesture.

"I think maybe there's something going on there," said a voice at Nan's ear.

She turned, grinning at Louise. "You think so?"

Lou raised her glass in the couple's direction. "I've never seen Teaspoon like this before. He's been married six times, you know. Maybe this time he'll get it right."

"They deserve it, both of them."

"It was tough for a minute there," mused Lou, still watching her chief, the man she looked up to as a father. "After Rachel admitted Julian had abused her, Teaspoon felt betrayed. He felt like she should've told him while it was going on."

"They seem to have worked it out."

Lou smiled. "They sure do." She lifted her champagne. "Shall we drink to them?"

Lou and Nan clinked glasses together, laughing like the gossiping hens they occasionally could be. Their eyes fell on other couples scattered around the room: Sam and Emma sitting together in a large, overstuffed armchair, abandoning all propriety with little kisses and caresses that gave away the true nature of their relationship. Superintendent Alcott engaged in deep conversation with Irene Burrows-innocent enough at first, until the look of adoration in Irene's eyes gave her feelings away as anything but professional. Ike was feeding cheese and crackers to the oft-mentioned Emily Metcalfe, a slight, pretty girl with brown hair and shining dark eyes. Geoff was pressing tender kisses to Dru's hand. And Cody had at last found success with PC Philippa Brierly.

"Didn't take long for her to succumb to his charms, now did it?" asked Nan devilishly.

"...Nan?"

"Hmm?" Nan was distracted, still watching everyone, still revelling in being on her feet again, feeling the strength flood back into her bones.

"Have you finally succumbed to Jimmy's charms?"

It was several moments before Nan turned to look again into Lou's face. She studied the smaller woman and knew that she wasn't going to be evaded. Lou was in earnest; she was inviting the truth. The question was, did Nan want to reveal her heart to this woman Jimmy had once loved? Did her self-confidence extend to laying herself open to the woman she couldn't help but perceive as her rival? Her feelings were still too new and tender to her. They were her talisman against the fear that was invading her body. Jimmy was the only thing that could stop that fear. What would Lou do with that information?

"Well, have you?" Lou's warm brown eyes searched Nan's face intently.

The sincerity was there, it was unmistakable. Nan was suddenly, deeply ashamed for doubting Louise McCloud. But she was unable to voice her feelings for Jimmy; they were too precious, too close to her heart, to reveal to anyone but Jimmy himself. Still, Lou deserved an answer.

The old Nan flared to life again, with all the energy and sparkle of old. "I don't know," she replied playfully. "Have you succumbed to Kid's?"

Lou chuckled, momentarily side-tracked. "That's the Nan I know. Answer a question with a question! And the answer is yes. I have."

Nan sobered, watching Jimmy in animated conversation with Will. She loved to watch him, with his broad hands gesturing in the air, the smile on his face lighting him up like a Christmas tree, the tilt of his head so familiar to her. The ache in her heart nearly took her breath away. "Just looking at him makes me happy." The words escaped her before she had time to check herself. She didn't even realise she had said them.

But Lou had heard them and as she looked at Nan, all her doubts-and there had been many of them-washed away. Nan loved Jimmy and the realisation warmed Lou's heart. She couldn't even imagine what it had done for Jimmy himself.

Nan was still watching Jimmy with eyes so full of the deepest love and affection that Lou felt intrusive just bearing witness to it. Without excusing herself she slipped away and joined Kid, who was arguing good-naturedly with Paulie over which was the better football team, Manchester United or Arsenal.

"Back me up here, Louise," Kid demanded when he saw her. "Tell Paulie that Arsenal are a load of nancy-boys who couldn't kick a goal if their lives depended on it."

"Your taste in football teams is as crap as your taste in clothes," Paulie countered, eyeing Kid's tailored black suit and charcoal grey shirt with a trendy adolescent's disdainful eye.

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you there," Lou murmured, extremely admiring of Kid's lanky frame in the flattering outfit. "And if it doesn't involve a pigskin and guys in shoulder pads and helmets, I don't know anything about your football."

"You're no help," Kid teased. "Where's Nan? She'll back me up."

From across the room Iain Langley beckoned to him as he searched the faces around him for Nan. The grin on Langley's ruddy face was as devilish as the look in his dancing eyes. Lou saw that the other men from the team were gathering around him, giggling like a pack of schoolgirls. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"What are you up to?"

"Up to?" Kid's face was the picture of innocence.

"Andrew Kidwell, what are you planning on-?"

"I've got to get over there, Lou, it was all my idea!" Tossing a wink over his shoulder, Kid effectively evaded further questions by joining the crowd of his co-workers.

"What's going on, Emma?" she demanded of her superintendent.

Emma had disengaged herself from Sam's arms and waited as he joined the other men. Her grin was expectant and amused. "Not to worry, Lou. It's...tradition." She nearly choked with laughter on the word, biting her lip to stop herself. "They're really not half bad."

The men were assembling themselves into a semblance of organisation. "Are they going to sing?" Lou asked in confusion.

Emma nodded, still fighting back giggles.

"What, like 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow'?"

Emma snickered. "Something like that."

"You're being very cryptic, Emma."

"It's tradition," Emma said again. Her eyes twinkled as she watched the men. "Took Sam years to get the words right."

Across the room Nan looked up from conversation with her uncle and Johan Skarsgård to see all the men from her station-right down to Alcott and Teaspoon-standing in a formation, looking like choirboys about to wreak havoc. Her colour faded. "Oh, no."

"What is it, sweetheart?" Jamie asked.

Nan caught sight of Buck and Cody in their midst. Then she saw Jimmy. "Oh, they've taught him the bloody song…"

"Attention! Attention please!" announced Kid, raking fingers through his curling hair. "We have a little song we'd like to sing in honour of our brave Inspector Kenworthy. So-ahem-if we could have a bit of hush."

"I'll kill him," Nan muttered under her breath.

As if he had heard, Kid flashed her a beguiling smile and winked. Waving his hands in the air dramatically, he led his fellow officers in song.

_Why was she born so beautiful?_  
_Why was she born at all?_  
_She's no bloody use to anyone,_  
_she's no bloody good at all!_

Those who had not been let in on the joke stared in horror, but every officer present was snickering with laughter; Nan more than any of them. She held her sides, delighted with the mischievous glimmers in the men's eyes and the sensation they had created. She wasn't thinking of Westward or the lingering pain, or the fears that promised to haunt her. She was only concentrating on the laughter and affection flowing around her. And when the song began again, Nan was the first to join in, her face alight with joy, her relaxed posture and happy smile clearly declaring: _I'm home_. It was enough for now.

* * *

_I_t was ten o'clock before the house began to empty, and even then it was only because the next day was a work day. Nan watched from her vantage point on the sofa, her legs stretched out before her, arms stretched out behind her head. Her body was humming agreeably from a combination of light painkillers and surreptitious sips of champagne. She smiled with an expression of slightly drunken pleasure as one by one the guests filed out of the house, stooping to press kisses to her flushed cheeks.

She noted that Superintendent Alcott, after a few stern words of advice, left with Irene Burrows, climbing into a taxi with her. She noted that Johan Skarsgård had become involved in a good-natured argument with Uncle Jamie regarding English football teams, which carried on well after Johan had bid her goodbye. Her eyes, though dimmed by the champagne and the exhaustion she felt, nevertheless took in everything with her sharp policewoman's instinct.

Geoff approached the sofa, arm-in-arm with Drucilla, who swooped down upon Nan, hugging her with all her might. They gazed at each other, Dru's eyes bright with unshed tears. She smoothed back a lock of Nan's untidy hair. They were both silent, thinking of the many promises to see one another, only to be broken by last-minute changes of plans, of how they had nearly been robbed of all future opportunities entirely.

Dru blinked rapidly. "Coffee next weekend?" she asked, hesitant.

Nan nodded. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Dru's smile softened her icy blondness. "I'm so glad you're well, Nanny-bear."

"I always bounce back, Dru, you know that."

"Doesn't stop the regrets, though, does it?"

Nan looked at her, silent, waiting for her friend to explain.

Dru sighed, and when she spoke her voice was mockingly stern. "No more missed lunch dates. No more, 'Sorry I haven't called sooner, but…' All right? No more of that. From either of us."

"Carpe diem?" prompted Nan with a raised eyebrow.

But Dru would not be swayed by Nan's sarcasm. "You're my friend, Nan. You've been my friend for ages. And even though Geoff's been our go-between, we've lost touch. I feel it. You feel it. I didn't really know what was going on in your life and you didn't really know what was going on in mine."

Geoff cleared his throat. "Ahem, I do believe I was rather informative."

Dru tossed her fiancé a reproving look. "That's different, darling. You're a _man_; you can't be expected to relay the good stuff."

"The juicy stuff," added Nan.

Geoff rolled his eyes.

"For instance," continued Dru with a teasing drawl, "this utterly divine Mr Hickok I've finally set eyes on. I expect a full report this weekend, Nan. I expect _details_."

"I don't kiss and tell," Nan retorted with a gleam in her dark eyes.

"Oh, but you will," replied Dru, rising to her feet once more. "You'll tell _everything_. And you'll start by telling me if those sexy lips are as skilled as they look to be."

Nan burst into laughter. "You stay away from my bloke, Drucilla Soon-to-be-Devanney, if you know what's good for you. You've got a perfectly lovely one right here," she said teasingly, noting the overdone mask of hurt on Geoff's handsome face.

He brightened at her words. "Thank you, Nanny-bear. I shall remember your kind words always." He kissed her with a loud smack and looped his arm through Dru's. He extended his forefinger toward Nan. "Give me a ring sometime, you."

In a gesture they hadn't practised since their primary school days, Nan touched her own forefinger to Geoff's and they hooked them together. She could almost hear his childish voice that first day they'd decided on this version of a secret handshake: '_It's for us only, Nanny. Just you and me. No one else. It means best mates.' _And then her own voice, echoing girlishly, _'Best mates_.'

She grinned at Geoff, a grin of forgiveness; she knew he was feeling guilty for the same reasons Dru was. Neither of them had any reason to be, but it would be difficult to convince either of them of that. There was no guilt in having to live your own life. The only one who should feel any guilt was Julian Westward, and it was certain he felt none. "You'll be hearing from me," she promised.

The AMIT officers were the last to leave, and each of them insisted on a kiss, right down to Teaspoon and Sam. Emma and Rachel hugged Nan and she felt motherly warmth flowing from both of them, warmth that strengthened her. It was amazing to feel such love from Rachel, whom she'd hardly known during the tenure of the case, but looking into her eyes and seeing the affection between her and Teaspoon, Nan had a feeling she would be getting to know Rachel Dunne much better over the next few months.

Kid lingered longer than the others. Lou waited at a respectful distance, allowing the two old partners to have their moment together.

He delivered a light tap to Nan's chin and smiled at her, blue eyes soft with affection. "How are you holding up, Kenworthy?"

"Not bad, Kidwell, thanks for asking."

"You look like a queen, all laid out on the sofa like that. Did you get a chance to see everyone off?"

"I would like to have had more time with everybody. It feels as if I hardly got to talk to anyone."

Kid shrugged. "I'm sure everyone understands. Parties aren't really the best place to play catch-up with people. There'll be time for that later."

"For a while no one thought I _had_ a later," Nan reminded him softly.

The smile faded from Kid's face. He drew her hand into his. "You're right. No one's guaranteed a tomorrow, anyway. But it doesn't mean you have to rush yourself. Just take it easy for a bit, all right? You'll be back on your feet and in the office ordering us all about in no time."

Nan grinned. "Are you trying to make me feel better, Kidwell?"

"Why would I ever want to do a thing like that?" he shot back.

Though she laughed, she was suddenly aware of Jimmy's presence behind her. It was subtle; the warmth of his body near hers, the scent of him drifting toward her nostrils, maybe even something as simple as a slight shift in the air currents. But she knew he was there even before he spoke.

"Hey, Kid," he said easily, "I think you're tiring the lady out."

"Nonsense, Hickok. You know what they say-laughter is the best medicine."

"Then I am well on my way to a complete recovery," broke in Nan, every nerve tingling suddenly as Jimmy drew closer to slip his fingers in the mass of her hair.

"We should go," Kid said with a nod of finality. "We'll be seeing you soon, won't we?"

"Try and keep me away from that station."

"Don't worry," Kid teased as Jimmy groaned in response, "I'm sure Jimmy'll do his best." Kid and Lou left together, walking out into the crisp air toward the tube station. And then Jimmy and Nan were left alone.

Granddad and Jamie were busily tidying up the house. Even Paulie was helping. They had refused all other offers of assistance, instead proudly declaring the Kenworthy men could handle it all themselves. Nan and Jimmy could hear their muted laughter down the hall.

"They're having entirely too much fun cleaning," Nan commented wryly.

Jimmy didn't respond. Instead he leaned over, taking her hands in his and pulling her unsteadily to her feet. "Let's go home," he said simply, handing her the crutches.

"Let me say goodbye to everyone first."

"I already said goodbye for both of us."

"What?"

"Come on, I just want to go back to your place."

"What's the rush?"

"It's late. We've got to catch the tube."

"We can take a taxi."

"I like the tube."

She stared at him blankly. "Jimmy, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Why would anything be going on?"

Nan raised an eyebrow. "You're acting very strangely."

"What's so strange about wanting to be alone with you?"

"...What?" She hadn't expected that.

He ducked his head shyly. "I just want it to be you and me for a change. There's always someone else around to interrupt us. We haven't been alone-_really_ alone-since...well, since…_you_ know."

Since the day Westward had sent the video to the station and the true nature of their relationship had been revealed to the entire Area Major Incident Team. Since she'd fled to the break room and he'd lectured her on closing herself off from those who loved her. Since the day she'd disappeared.

Their gazes were locked together, broken only by the sudden interruption of a scuffle in the hallway. Reluctantly they turned toward the noise, to find Will, Jamie, and Paul leaning out into the hall, arranged like the Three Stooges, each with a comical expression of curiosity.

"You're not gone then, love?" prompted Will anxiously.

"Not just yet, no. I wanted to say goodbye first."

"Goodbye," the three men chorused, not budging from their position.

"On your way then," urged Will.

Nan gaped at him. Her Granddad, England's champion worrywart, the master of the worst-case scenario, was actually in a hurry to be rid of her? "Jimmy, did you slip a mickey into my Granddad's champagne?"

Jimmy just laughed in response.

"Did you bribe him maybe? Promise him to chain me inside my flat?"

He pulled a face of shock and amazement. "I can't believe you would think I'd be capable of such a thing."

Out of the corner of her eye Nan caught a vigorous nod from her grandfather, followed by a sly wink and an enthusiastic 'okay' sign. She grabbed Jimmy by the collar. "James Hickok, what did you promise my grandfather?"

His immediate reply was a devilish grin. He wrapped his arms around her waist and murmured, "I may have promised him that I'd make an honest woman out of you."

Nan blinked, open-mouthed. "Surely you're not...serious."

"I am serious. And don't call me 'Shirley.'" Jimmy laughed, amused at his own joke.

"But-but, w-w-ait just...I mean...w-wait," she spluttered eloquently.

"We can discuss this on the way home. Come on."

Jimmy helped her into her jacket and scarf, jamming her crutches under her arms and leading her out the door.

"Jimmy, wait," Nan tried desperately. Panic had seized hold of her. Did Jimmy really mean to _propose_ to her? She turned to throw her family a pleading look.

"Bye!" Jimmy called out cheerfully.

"Bye!" replied the traitorous Kenworthy men.

And before she knew it, she and Jimmy had stepped out into the dark night. The air was still and cold. Their breath came out in soft, wispy bursts of cottony air. They stood on the steps for a moment, silent. Nan's mind was racing. Jimmy had said he'd make an honest woman of her. He'd practically promised her grandfather. Where did that leave her? She loved Jimmy, but marriage meant a life together, and a life together meant leaving England. And leaving England would be enough to break her heart.

She turned to Jimmy, expecting some sort of explanation.

"Let me help you down," was all he said.

After they had walked her down the steps they began the trek to the Hampstead tube station. They said nothing for several minutes. Nan led the way, listening to the thump of her crutches as they hit the pavement, contemplating a life with Jimmy thousands of miles away, across an ocean, in the infamous city of New York.

"I didn't tell him we were getting married," Jimmy said suddenly.

Nan looked at him. She wasn't sure if the sensation flooding through her was relief or disappointment. "You didn't?"

"I know that's what you were thinking." There was laughter in his voice.

"Oh." The word came out in a whisper. And with that one word she knew she was disappointed. And more than that, she was hurt. She stared down at her feet as they swept over the pavement between her crutches.

"I mean, do you really think I'd tell your grandfather before I'd tell you? I'm not that old-fashioned, Nan."

She dared a small glance at him. "So, if you ever decide you want to marry me, I'll be the first to know?"

"Absolutely." Jimmy nodded with mock solemnity.

'Well, that was something at least,' she thought.

"When you can let go."

He said it so quietly she almost didn't hear him. But she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him. "When I what?"

"When you can let go," he repeated calmly, stopping in front of her.

"Of what?" she asked in a voice she didn't recognise.

Jimmy shrugged. "Of Westward. Of that basement where he hurt you. Of the letters and the phone calls and the packages. Of the fear."

Nan sucked her breath in sharply. "I'm not afraid," she said, her voice squeaking on the words.

"Nan," Jimmy spoke softly and reached his hand out to stroke the side of her face, "you don't have to pretend when you're with me."

Suddenly she could hardly see him through the tears that clouded her vision. He was outlined by the brilliant street lamps, but his face was a blur. She felt his thumb brush against her lips. "How did you know?" she murmured.

"I can read you like a book. I know your face so well."

Her smile faltered. "I don't mean to be afraid. I just can't help thinking about him."

Jimmy drew her closer, resting his chin on her head as she buried her face against him. "You don't have to be afraid. But when you are afraid, it's okay. You just have to know when to let go."

"I just can't stop thinking about him. What's going to happen to him, Jimmy? Is he going to buy his way out of this?" Nan's hands flew up into the air, the crutches clattering to the ground as she gestured vehemently. "Do you know what he did to me, Jimmy? Do you realise what he did to other people? People like Rachel and Renée Greer and Eric Jeffries? He-he just used us and then _threw _us away when he was done! Like we were trash, like our lives were worth _nothing_…" Her voice had grown strong and harsh, heavy with fury. If she didn't get angry the pain was going to come back, and she had to fight the pain at all costs.

But Jimmy was there, and he wasn't going to let her ignore the pain. He shushed her by hugging her tighter against him, his arms like steel around her body. "Listen to me," he said, his chest rumbling comfortingly beneath her cheek, "you went through hell, and no one's expecting you to bounce back like nothing happened. You need some time to work through all this. We're willing to give you all the time in the world."

"But?" Nan prompted, sensing the word, though it hadn't been said.

"But you need to live your own life and you need to not hide your pain by focusing on that man. I want you to rest and get strong and I want you to stop thinking about what's going to happen to Julian Westward. What happens to that bastard is out of our hands. I want you to start thinking about what's going to happen to_ us. Us,_Nan."

Nan slipped her arms under Jimmy's jacket and around his waist. She closed her eyes and burrowed her nose into the soft cotton shirt peeking from underneath. As always Jimmy's arms had magic in them. Even the air was clearer, sweeter, when he was nearby. And the dull ache that threatened to suffocate her lifted for a moment, reminding her just what she had to live for and that anger towards evil could not be the focus of her life. But joy and happiness could. And James Hickok...he certainly could.

They stood there for a long time, warm in each other's arms, silent and thoughtful as they held each other on the deserted street.


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

_If you knew how lonely my life has been_

_and how long I've been so alone_

_And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along_

_and change my life the way you've done_

_It feels like home to me_

"Feels Like Home" - Chantal Kreviazuk

* * *

_S_uddenly, miraculously, life began to return to normal. One day drifted into another, and soon a fortnight had passed, bringing with it the inevitable sameness of change. Julian Westward was kept under police custody while his trial date was set. Angelina Cyrus was located and a statement was taken. The AMIT officers, having fulfilled their duties in Ladbroke Grove, were sent back to LMPF headquarters at New Scotland Yard, to wait in limbo until their next assignment, filing papers and researching cases to kill time.

Even after the overwhelming stress of the past few months, desk duty was not a welcome respite to the officers. They grumbled day in and day out, loath to perform the menial tasks that would serve to occupy them while they waited to be sent to a new station. Just as they had every instance previously.

The real change was in Jimmy. He had grown quieter since Nan's return from the hospital, and his nature had grown more reserved. He seemed to be lost in thought more than half of the time, and only a sharp rebuke from Emma or a poke in the ribs from Kid could jolt him back to reality. It didn't take a genius to figure out what his mind was on; but as to the exact nature of his thoughts, it was anyone's guess. In fact, it was a favourite subject of speculation among the AMIT officers. Jimmy, however, would confirm nothing, simply smiling complacently when probed for details.

Lou alone bit her tongue, keeping her many questions to herself. She knew James Hickok too well to prod him before the time was right. She was nearly bursting with curiosity but didn't dare approach him before she was sure he was ready to talk.

Her chance came one afternoon when she found him alone in the filing room. She watched him for a moment; one cabinet drawer was opened and pressed against his chest as he leaned against it, one elbow resting on the files, a thick folder in the opposite hand. He was staring off into space, his eyes far away, a serious expression on his face. Lou folded her arms over her chest and couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her lips.

"Ahem," she said, with an ostentatious clearing of her throat.

Jimmy spun around, the file dropping from his hands, its contents spilling onto the floor. He gazed at her sheepishly. "Hey, Lou."

"Off in dreamland, were we?"

"Just thinking, that's all."

"Yeah Jimmy, I think we've all noticed you've been _thinking _a lot lately."

He just grinned and didn't reply, stooping to pick up the papers scattered at his feet.

"Anything in particular occupying your thoughts?" Lou asked slyly.

"Maybe." He was nonchalant.

"Do I get three guesses?"

She could hear the laughter in his voice. "And the first two don't count," he said in agreement.

"It couldn't possibly be Nan Kenworthy, could it?"

"Don't know what gave you that idea," he smiled. He began to pile the papers together, straightening them in his hands.

"Jimmy? Have you and Nan had the chance to talk yet?"

He didn't look up. "A little."

"And?"

"Things are being resolved."

Lou moved into the room and perched herself on the end of the table. "Such as?"

"You know, just things."

"_Things?_" She repeated incredulously. "Things such as what you're going to do in a few months when you're supposed to head back to the States? Things such as whether or not you're going to be able to maintain a long-distance relationship? Things such as how you're going to cope being a few thousand miles away from the woman you love? Those kind of _things,_ Jimmy?"

Jimmy rose to his feet. "Jesus, Lou," he said, shaking his head with a sigh. "I was going to say you missed your calling, but then I remembered what you do for a living." He ran his hand through his hair. "Ease up on the interrogation tactics, will you? I'm only just getting over the shock of her not being dead; I haven't thought to involve her in psycho-analysing our relationship."

After a moment Lou eased into a smile. "All right, Jimmy, point taken." She broke off, noting his mouth turned down at the corners, the slight tremble of his fingers. She reached for his hand. "Hey—are you gonna be okay?"

Jimmy attempted to make a brave reply, but faltered. It was difficult to hide the fear in his eyes. "I thought I'd lost her, Lou," he whispered. "I thought she was gone." There was a note of utter disbelief in his voice. "I mean, that day...that day...when that bastard looked me in the eye and told me he'd killed Nan...you don't know. You just don't know what that— " He broke off and swallowed hard, nearly choking on the tears he was fighting down. "What that did to me," he finished.

It occurred to Lou that this was the first time Jimmy had spoken like this to anyone since the tumultuous events of the past month. She knew him too well to believe he had burdened Nan with his anguish. However much Nan might want to help him with it, Jimmy would protect her from his own pain as long as he could.

Lou searched for the right words and could find none. Instead she went to Jimmy and hugged him as hard as she could. She felt him relax in her embrace and hug her quickly back.

"Thanks, Lou. I guess I needed that."

"I could see you did."

He hadn't cried. His eyes were bright, but the tears remained unshed. He managed a credible smile. "It's just been a lot to take," he said.

"Jimmy, you don't have to explain yourself."

"I know everyone's been wondering what's going on."

"We're just worried, that's all."

Jimmy raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh, really? No one's been having a good time gossiping about Nan and me while we're all stuck here in desk-duty hell? You mean it's all out of concern?"

"All right, you've got me there." Lou burst into laughter. "But really, Jimmy, we do care. And we are worried."

He sighed heavily. "I know you are, Lou, and I appreciate it. I've just been thinking a lot, that's all."

"And? Have you come to any conclusions?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"What does Nan have to say about all this?"

"We've sort of hinted at the subject, but neither of us have actually come right out and said anything about it. I think we're both scared to find out what the other's thinking."

"What _are_ you thinking?"

It was several moments before he responded. He chose his words carefully. "Nan loves England. It's her home, Lou. It's her home the way I've never had a home in my life. It's not just where she was born, and it's not just where she comes from; her heart is here. She loves everything about it." Jimmy leaned back against a tall cabinet, staring thoughtfully at the floor as he spoke. "I've never felt that way about any place. I love Manhattan and I'm happy there, but that's only because you and Buck and Cody and Teaspoon are there. You _are_ my family."

"You know we feel the same, Jimmy."

He smiled softly. "And then I realised that I_ do _feel that way about someplace, just the way Nan does. And I feel it about England, because England is where Nan is, and my home is with her."

Lou drew her breath in sharply. "Jimmy, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I love her, Lou, and that I want to be wherever she is."

"She could come to New York," Lou offered. But even as she said it she knew what Jimmy's answer would be.

He smiled again, affectionately, and shook his head.

"You haven't even asked her, have you?" she sighed.

"I don't want to. I _want_ to stay in London, Lou. I like it here. Hell, I love it here. I love taking the tube, I love walking through Hyde Park, I love working with AMIT; I even love having a warm pint down at the pub." He paused. "Maybe it's just the excitement of living in another country, or maybe everything is just that much better because this is where Nan is. I don't know. But I do know that I want to stay."

Lou was silent, trying to grasp the thought that when the time came to fly back to New York and the life she was looking forward to resuming, Jimmy wouldn't be with her. He had been her best friend and closest confidante for so many years now; it was unbearable to think of not being able to share her life with him every day. Kid was dearer to her than anyone now, but love did not take the place of old friendships.

"I like England too, Jimmy, but..." She stopped, trying another tactic. "Maybe Nan would like to try New York. You haven't even asked her!"

"I don't have to ask her. I know what she'd do. She'd come with me, for some of the same reasons I'm staying: because she knows I want to be with the people I love and because she loves _me._ Because she's a little bit adventurous. But why ask her to uproot her life and history for me when I'm perfectly happy to do it for her?"

"But-"

He cut her off. "Wouldn't you do the same for Kid?"

"Jimmy-"

"Wouldn't he do the same for you?"

The words silenced her. Lou ducked her head, red creeping into her cheeks. They had kept the decision from the others while they worked out the details, but the truth was that Kid _was_ going to do the same for her. He was leaving London for Manhattan, and he was as happy as Jimmy to make the sacrifice. "Yes," she finally whispered, "he would." She met Jimmy's eyes. "He is."

"And Nan's going to miss him as much as you're going to miss me. And I'm going to miss Kid. And Emma's going to miss you…" Jimmy laughed. "That's just life, Lou. You have to do what makes you happy. You have to move on."

"I know." Lou swung her legs back and forth in front of her, looking like a disappointed little girl. "And I'll be okay with it…eventually."

"That's my girl. I'm sure Kid will be more than happy to help you over the disappointment."

"Ha ha," she replied witheringly. "And you're sure about this?"

"Positive."

"Absolutely, without question, one hundred percent positive?"

"Lou, there is no longer a shred of doubt in my mind."

"I just can't see you as an Englishman, Jimmy."

"Hell, I can pip-pip-cheerio with the best of them."

Lou giggled girlishly. "Have you told Teaspoon?"

The smile faded from Jimmy's lips. "No," he said. "But I have a feeling he suspects."

"You know that Rachel's going back to the States with him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I knew that."

Lou thought of Teaspoon and that certain, special closeness he and Jimmy shared. "He's going to be upset. He'll really miss you, Jimmy."

"I'll miss him, too. But I know he'll understand."

"What makes you so sure?" Lou asked wistfully.

And Jimmy's smile flashed once more, confident, certain, and just a bit teasing. "Because he knew I loved her before I did. And if there's anyone who knows what love can do to a man, it's Teaspoon Hunter."

* * *

_T_he crutches were a bloody nuisance. Even after weeks of experience with them, Nan found herself tripping over them, or missing a step when she got a bit ahead of herself and let them swing too far out in front of her. Stairs were an exercise in torture. But it was nothing compared to the excruciating pain she'd endured on the one occasion when she'd grown so fed up with her crutches that she'd thrown them aside and attempted to walk on her own. Jimmy had nearly ripped her head off when he'd found her in a heap on the floor, after hearing a tremendous thump that shook the room. Nan grinned to herself at the thought.

The grin was erased however, as she made her way slowly up the stairs at New Scotland Yard. They were a bit tricky: gravity-defyingly steep, and slippery with rain puddles. The bursts of wind with their arctic temperatures weren't any help either. Her long black coat blew around her legs, her hair whipped about her face, stinging her skin. She gritted her teeth together and steeled her will.

"Right. I'll make it up these steps or die trying," she muttered under her breath. She gripped the handles of the crutches harder, her bare fingers red and raw from the cold. "One...two...three…" A vehement swing of a crutch and suddenly the pavement began to fly up at her at an alarming rate.

And then strong arms were reaching out for her, and there was a familiar scent. "Whoa, there!" gasped a voice as the arms crushed her to an expanse of suede-covered chest.

Nan steadied herself, letting her heart rate get back to normal, and then stepped back. The arms around her let go. She was looking up into the face of Pete Binchy. They stared at one another for a moment.

Pete's eyes searched her face, a smile hesitating about his lips. "You're looking well, Nan."

"Thanks, Pete. So are you."

He shrugged and laughed self-consciously. "Not so bad, I suppose."

"No, no," she assured him, "I mean it. Really well." The desperate look was gone from his face. He seemed relaxed again, at ease with himself, the Pete Binchy she had used to know. The discomfort she had once felt was gone. She was as pleased to see him as she would have been to see any of the boys. She found herself believing she and Pete could be friends.

"Coming round for a visit, then?" he asked, shyly ignoring her compliment.

"Thought I might stretch my limbs some. I get a bit cooped up in that flat." Nan made a face.

"Well, I know everyone will be dead chuffed to see you."

Nan looked about her and smiled with pleasure. "It feels good to be here," she admitted.

"Don't let me keep you."

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, just for a bit."

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but finding no words. She knew that she and Pete were unfinished business. There was so much more they could say to each other; they could talk, they could explain, they could ask questions and perhaps finally get answers. Answers they had both been looking for, for a long time now. Perhaps there could finally be some kind of closure.

The silence pervaded until both felt awkward. Nan looked down at her crutches; Pete shuffled his feet, desperate for something to break the suddenly uncomfortable moment. He looked at her dark, bowed head, remembering countless times when he had kissed her to smooth away the lines of worry on her face.

It was so strange, he thought, so heartbreakingly sad, that you could spend a year of your life loving someone and having that person love you back, unable to imagine your life without that person by your side...and then one day-a long way down the road, perhaps, but someday nonetheless-you would be standing like this: facing each other in silence, unsure what to say, that old love unspoken and ignored. As if that year had never happened.

"I'm so glad you're all right, Nan."

Nan looked up at the words, surprised at their sudden, soft delivery. "Thank you, Pete."

"And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for-" Pete stopped, helpless at the onslaught of words that tumbled through his brain. The cold was burning at his eyes and his mind was racing. 'I'm sorry for hurting you,' he wanted to say. 'I'm sorry for the bitterness and the angry words, and for hating you and for hating Hickok. I'm sorry that I couldn't forgive you. It wasn't your fault. I didn't know that then, but I know it now, and I'm sorry. I was such a bastard, and I'm sorry.'

"Pete?" Her dark blue eyes were searching deeply into his, bemused. The cold seemed forgotten somehow.

He smiled at her, down into her lovely face, and felt some of the anger diminish, some of the pain subside. "I'm sorry for everything," he said simply.

She rewarded him with one of her broad, radiant Nan smiles; a smile that tugged at his heartstrings, but didn't hurt him the way it used to. He bent his head and smudged his lips across her temple, his hand curling in her thick, black hair.

"See you, Nan," he whispered, releasing her.

Nan turned, smiling faintly, watching him as he dashed down the steps and hailed a taxi. She touched her fingers to her temple, his kiss still tingling her skin, and her smile grew wider.

She turned again to navigate the remaining steps and then entered Scotland Yard, humming under her breath. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar, beloved scent of stale cigarette smoke and burnt coffee, letting her ears fill once more with the sound of shoes squeaking over linoleum floors, raucous laughter trailing down the halls. Her lids flew open, wincing slightly under the ugly, harsh neon light. Everything was the same, right down to the cracked leather sofa in the waiting area and the tea stains on the throw rug under her feet.

It was still ugly, it still smelled bad, the furniture was still repulsive, and the lighting was still terrible. But it was home and it felt marvellous to be back.

Nan sighed happily and continued on to the AMIT room, her crutches practically swinging from her hands. She didn't barge in as she had planned. Instead she stopped to peek through the door at the officers scattered around the large office: Kid, Jimmy, Cody, Buck, Lou, Ike, and Noah. Each was lounging at a different desk, feet propped here and there, some of them staring at the ceiling fan that whirled above their heads, some of them gazing blankly at computer screens or files. She spotted Jimmy at her desk; it was decked liberally with Man United emblems and snaps of her family and friends. Jimmy had one photo-of Nan and Kid dressed as two of the Spice Girls for last year's LMPF Halloween party-in his broad hands and he was chuckling at it.

The room was a mess, decorated haphazardly with posters and paintings that various officers had accumulated over the years. Desks were overrun with papers and old Styrofoam takeaway cartons, half-empty tea mugs staining folders and tables. This was the Area Major Incident Team's only real home, no matter how many stations they were sent to, no matter how many months they were away.

She stared inside so intently that she failed to notice Ike had risen from his chair and was making his way toward the door. She didn't notice, in fact, until the door had opened before her, giving way underneath her hands, and she was falling to the floor with a terrific crash.

Every officer present flew to their feet with a clattering of chairs and stampeding of feet. The room became a chaotic rush of voices.

"Jesus, Nan, are you all right?"

"Are you hurt, Nan?"

"I'm so sorry, Nan! I didn't see you there!"

"Nan, can you hear me?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

This last was from Cody, who hovered above Nan with three fingers splayed broadly apart not more than two inches from her face. She glared up at him from her undignified position, flat on the floor with all four limbs at various angles.

"Nan! How many fingers?" Cody urged anxiously, wiggling the three digits for extra effect.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, rubbing her forehead. "Twelve," she muttered.

Jimmy was beside her, helping her to her feet. His eyes were twinkling merrily. "That'll teach you to sneak up on us."

"So much for making a dignified entrance," she agreed.

Ike was looking mortified with guilt. "God, Nan, I'm so sorry."

She pretended to frown at him for a moment before ruffling his closely-cropped hair. "Just don't do it again, McSwain," she commanded in mock-gruff tones.

There was a flurry of voices again, this time rising and falling with laughter and conversation. Nan found herself seated at her desk with Lou at her side and the boys clustering around them like waiting attendants.

Lou studied Kid and Jimmy deep in conversation. She nudged Nan gently, nodding in the direction of the two friends. "What do you think they're talking about?" she whispered slyly.

Nan's smile grew wicked. "Probably us."

"Probably," Lou agreed with a laugh. Pausing, she looked down at her hands, unsure how to broach the subject foremost in her mind. Finally she decided to just come out with it. "Jimmy told me...about the decision he made."

"Decision?" echoed Nan.

"I hope you don't mind him talking it over with me."

Nan looked at her, puzzled. "Of course I don't mind him talking anything over with you, Lou."

Lou was relieved. "I'm so glad. And I'm happy for him."

Quickly Nan searched her memory, trying to work out what may have happened to Jimmy that Lou should be glad for him. She gave up. "I'm sorry, Lou, I don't know what you're talking about."

"About London. About Jimmy staying." Lou stopped short, mortified. She remembered Jimmy saying that neither of them had broached the subject, that they were each too afraid of what the other might decide. "He hasn't told you, has he?"

Nan's breath caught in her throat. Suddenly there was nothing in the room but Lou and the words she had just spoken, words that seemed to reverberate in her ears. "And what has he-" her voice came out a desperate squeak. She cleared her throat and continued, ignoring the burn of tears threatening. "And what has he decided?"

"Oh God, Nan, I shouldn't have said anything. He'll want to tell you himself."

"Oh," was all Nan could manage. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. 'So he'd rather break the news himself,' she thought. 'Well, that's something at least.'

Lou saw immediately that Nan was assuming the worst. "Oh, no, no, no!" she rushed to explain. "He's _staying_, Nan. He's decided to stay."

Busy imagining herself lying in bed without Jimmy by her side, making nightly telephone calls across the ocean, crying into her gin and tonics at the pub while Geoff comforted her, it took a moment for Nan to realise what Lou had just said. "He's what?" she asked, sniffling.

Lou smiled then and laughed at Nan's tragic expression. Knowing that Jimmy was going to stay gave the moment a comical twist. "He's _staying_, you idiot," she teased. She brushed Nan's hair away from her face. "Did you honestly think he was just going to go back to New York without even asking you to come with him? Did you honestly think he could stand to be away from you?"

Sniffling again, Nan attempted to dry her eyes, giving Lou a watery smile. "Well," she admitted, "I do drive him quite mad sometimes."

"I think that's part of the attraction," Lou noted wryly.

Nan wiped her tears away with the cuff of her shirt. She glanced over at Jimmy, still laughing with Kid, and wanted to burst into fresh sobs, this time from sheer happiness. Jimmy was staying! He was staying _here_, in _London_, with _her_. He was giving up his life in New York, and he was doing it willingly. He hadn't even asked her to leave London, even though she would have, and gladly. Nan wanted to rush over and kiss every square inch of his face ten times over, but she restrained herself.

"I feel terrible, though, Nan," continued Lou. "I wasn't supposed to be the one to tell you!"

"That's all right." Nan grinned sheepishly. "Kid wasn't supposed to tell me he was leaving, but he couldn't help himself."

"He told you?" squealed Lou. "When?"

"He rang me earlier today to see how I was doing. I asked how you were, and he just burst out with it!" She laughed. "I don't think he could help himself. He's so excited."

"I know. He's giving up a lot for me."

"Well, he's always wanted to see America and he's very anxious to work under Teaspoon. And he loves you, Lou, very much."

Nan's gentle words brought sudden tears to Lou's brown eyes. She loved Kid so much, and the fact that he was willing and happy to move to New York meant more to her than words could say. Her tears elicited more from Nan, and soon they were sobbing happily together, while laughing at their own absurdity at the same time. They didn't notice the men watching them until it was too late.

"Oi, Kidwell! Hickok!" called Ike. "Come and take a look at these two!"

"What got into you two?" asked Kid with a raised eyebrow, fighting back laughter.

"Nothing," they both sniffed at the same time.

"Women," Cody muttered darkly.

"I think you're a little too emotional, Nan," commented Jimmy, arms folded as he studied her sceptically. "Maybe we should go home."

"No, I'm fine," she insisted. "Really, I'm fine." The way he said 'home' warmed her insides. He had used the word before to refer to her cosy little flat, but it had never registered as deeply as it did now. Her home was Jimmy's home now.

"You sure?"

Nan reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. "I'm sure."

Buck clapped his hands together expectantly. "All right, everyone. It's the end of a very long week. Hell, it's the end of a long case. We've got Nan back, we've got nothing else to do…who's in the mood for a celebration? How about drinks and lunch at the pub?"

"I don't think you need to ask this lot twice," interjected Noah as cheers erupted from every corner.

Everyone jumped immediately into action, grateful for the suggestion. Their mutual boredom had grown to agonising proportions. An evening in the pub was just what they needed.

Jimmy was in the middle of it all, talking and laughing with everyone, teasing Lou and punching Cody as he slipped into his coat. Nan grinned to herself. They would go to the pub for a while, and they would have a few drinks and a few laughs, feeling the comfort and joy of being with their friends. And then they would go home together.

_Home_. Home was the pair of them now, watching telly on the sofa, eating takeaway curry, decorating the flat for Christmas. Home was using his razor to shave her legs despite his repeated requests for her to use her own. It was Jimmy's socks lying on the floor no matter how many times she told him to pick them up. It was their toothbrushes in the cabinet side by side, and it was lazy Sunday mornings in bed reading the paper and talking. It was knowing his favourite meals and planning holidays and complaining about the rising prices of eggs. And it was more than that. As Jimmy reached for her again, their hands fitting perfectly together, Nan knew just what home was.

Home was Jimmy.


	37. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_So how can you tell me you're lonely_

_and say that for you the sun don't shine_

_Let me take you by the hand_

_and lead you through the streets of London_

_I'll show you something_

_to make you change your mind_

"The Streets of London" - Sinéad O'Connor

* * *

**INVESTMENT MILLIONAIRE SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON FOR MURDERS, THEFT **

**23 March 2000 – Colin Maxwell, Assoc. Press **

**After a legal battle that has ensued for nearly three and a half months, Julian Arthur Westward, former Vice-President of the prestigious Hawkesworth Brokerage Firm, was sentenced yesterday to life imprisonment in Her Majesty's Pittenham Prison in London, having been tried and convicted on five counts of murder and five counts of grand theft.**

_"J_ames Butler Hickok! Are you sitting on your bum reading the paper when you should be getting ready?"

Jimmy lowered the newspaper down to find Nan standing in front of him, hands on her hips, the indignant expression of a woman wronged clear on her face. Her cheeks were pink with temper, her eyes blazing. She looked glorious. Furious and ready to skin him alive, but glorious.

"Hi, honey," he responded pleasantly.

"Don't 'hi, honey' me," she retorted. "Jimmy, you know we've got to be out of the flat by noon if we're going to make it!"

"I'm ready when you are," he said, with a pointed glance that managed to underline the fact that he was fully dressed, from his jacket down to his shoes, while she stood there in nothing but a pair of slacks and a camisole.

Nan straightened herself and glared haughtily at him. "I'll be ready in a minute."

"Fine. I'll time you. You've got sixty seconds."

She narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, turning to flounce back down the hallway to the loo. Jimmy chuckled at her retreating figure before following her, the paper in hand. He paused in the doorway as she stood before the sink, attacking her hair with a brush, trying to tame it into normality.

"Listen to this," he said proudly, reading from the article as he leaned against the doorframe, "'Detective Superintendent Emma Shannon, of the London Metropolitan Police Force's Area Major Incident Team, was quoted as saying Westward's conviction was a great victory for the LMPF. "After months of hard work," Shannon stated, "it is immensely rewarding to know that Mr Westward is at last being made to pay for his crimes. Our only regret is that we were not able to see that it was done sooner.'"

Nan grinned as she gave up and began to twist her hair into a knot at the back of her head. "'Immensely rewarding,'" she laughed. "Sounds like Emma using her 'official' voice, doesn't it?"

Jimmy skimmed on through the article, past paragraphs detailing Westward's chain of murder and theft, and the weeks and weeks of work done by AMIT and the other LMPF teams. The article went on at great length about Westward's assault on Nan, describing her capture and the many injuries she had sustained. Jimmy couldn't bring himself to read that part.

"Oh, now _this_ is interesting," he continued. "'Today Julian Westward will be taken to Pittenham Prison in North London. Pittenham, known colloquially as "The Pit," is home to many of Britain's most hardened criminals and has a reputation for violent outbreaks amongst its inhabitants.'" Jimmy snorted. "He won't last two days. They'll eat him alive."

Nan patted her hair into place, feeling like a teenage girl as she primped. She glanced at Jimmy's reflection in the mirror. "Do we have to hear about this now?"

"I just thought you might be interested now that it's all over."

"Well, you were wrong," she replied lightly, with just a hint of trepidation in her voice.

Since the trial of Julian Westward had begun, Nan had steadfastly refused to hear anything about the case. She left the newspapers to Jimmy and turned off the telly whenever any mention of it was made on the news. Apart from the testimony she had given, she was the only one of the AMIT officers who did not attend a moment of Westward's trial.

Jimmy had accused her once of avoiding what had happened to her, but far from avoiding, Nan was doing her best to meet her fears head on. She still saw an LMPF psychiatrist once a week and she had slowly but surely opened up more and more to her friends and family. "I'm trying not to be afraid of him, Jimmy," she had told him, "and I'm getting better. But that doesn't mean I have to immerse myself in all things Julian Westward."

Jimmy set the newspaper on the table in the hall and walked back to Nan, who was now in the bedroom searching frantically through the closet, shoving clothes aside with a loud screech of the hangers.

"What are you doing, woman?"

"Looking for a shirt!" Her voice was muffled as she thrust her head inside the closet.

"Don't bother; I like you in that little thing," he said wickedly, indicating her lacy camisole.

She paused only long enough to shoot him a contemptuous glance. Jimmy checked his watch. "If you want to catch the tube we've got about ten minutes."

"What if I want to catch a taxi?"

"Thirty."

"Ta da!" She emerged again a moment later, fully dressed, and twirled around in front of him.

Jimmy grabbed her by the hand and began to pull her out of the bedroom and into the living room. "Beautiful. Perfect. Well worth the wait. Now let's get to the station." He tossed her jacket at her.

"You're so chivalrous," she said as he ushered her out the door.

Her sarcasm no longer had much effect on him. He could breeze over it quite easily. "You're the one who likes to be on time."

"We could have taken a taxi. What's with you and this obsession with the tube anyway?"

Jimmy shrugged. He could hardly explain it to himself, let alone anyone else, but he was completely enamoured of the London Underground. He loved standing on its dirty platforms waiting with the other passengers. He loved that loud whooshing sound the train made as it pulled to a stop in front of him, and then the hissing noise of the doors opening. He still got a thrill out of knowing he was riding underneath the streets above him, and he didn't doubt that he always would. The New York subway system had nothing on the Underground.

As he and Nan walked to the station, Jimmy drew her hand into his. They walked in companionable silence. It was an utterly gorgeous, unseasonably warm spring day. The sun was shining generously and everyone in London seemed to be out enjoying it.

This was one of the many things he liked best about being with Nan: little moments like this, the two of them walking together hand in hand. He sneaked a peek over at her as she smiled to herself. She was looking lovely in her peach-coloured blouse, her hair drawn up to expose her slim neck, that delicious smile on her lips. And she seemed remarkably unselfconscious for once.

Despite the amazing leaps her recovery had taken, and despite the fact that the visible reminders of what Westward had done to her were few, Nan still had difficulty walking with her old confidence. When she looked into the mirror she did not see the great lengths she had come, she saw only the white scar that slashed across her temple, the healing gash scarring her full bottom lip, the haunted look in her dark blue eyes. She walked with caution now, acutely aware of the awkward limp her gait had acquired. The doctor had told her that with more time and physical therapy, it could grow less noticeable, and in truth it was insignificant, but to Nan it was an embarrassing reminder that she was no longer the woman she had once been.

Jimmy, on the other, still saw only beauty and worth, just as he had from the moment he had fallen in love with her. He had tried to argue this point more than any other—that she was still an amazing woman, that there was still so much to be admired—and after a lengthy, stubborn battle, Nan seemed to be at last seeing reason. Now that she was back in the office, working hard at the job she adored, she felt her old self returning to her. But she still had a ways to go; her poise and self-assurance had suffered a terrible blow.

They were happy, he thought, as they pushed through the turnstiles in the tube station, slipping their tickets into the automatic feeder. They worked and ate and slept, they had dinner at Will and Jamie's, bought new furniture, and argued over which program to watch on any given evening. They were content, and blissfully, unremarkably normal, the same as thousands of couples all over London. They were lucky to have each other.

And yet Jimmy knew that no other man could be as lucky as he was; there was only one Nan Kenworthy in the world, after all, and she was his.

It was difficult not to evaluate these things as he and Nan were whisked speedily along the Underground, toward the going-away luncheon that was being held for those heading back to the States. It was difficult, he reflected, to say goodbye to his friends and not remember that, but for circumstances utterly beyond his control, he would be flying back to New York with them today.

'If Emma hadn't lectured me on being nicer to Nan, I never would have bought her that drink in the pub. And if I hadn't bought her that drink we never would have had that incredible night. And if we hadn't had that night,' he realised, 'I might never have fallen in love with her.' And of course the worst thought of all, 'If Nan hadn't lived, I wouldn't be staying. I would be going back to New York. I couldn't bear to be here without her; not when everywhere I turn reminds me of her and how much she loves it here.'

He glanced over at Nan. She was standing next to him, clinging to a pole for support, her head resting against it. She was staring dreamily at an advert for toothpaste that was plastered above the window opposite her. Jimmy grinned to himself. He loved her so much, from the messy bits of hair escaping the twist at the nape of her neck, right on down to the sturdy toes of her Doc Marten boots. He loved everything from her overwhelmingly generous heart, to the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed, to her incredibly annoying habit of hogging all the covers at night.

"Penny for your thoughts," she said with a smile, breaking his reverie.

Jimmy started back to reality, then relaxed into another grin. Another 'what if' thought had occurred to him. "I was just thinking," he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him, "that if you hadn't been late that day picking me up at the airport, I might not have gotten so irritated with you. And if I hadn't gotten so irritated with you, we never would have gotten off on the wrong foot, and we never would have-"

"Wasted all that time loathing each other?" supplied Nan, eyes sparkling as she followed his train of thought.

"I thought you were devastating the first time I saw you," he said. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"No," she replied, delighted.

"Yep. Gorgeous, devastating, the works. But I wanted strangle you. Do you have any idea how awful it is to wait in an airport for hours?"

She raised her eyebrow, baiting him. "Are you suggesting it was all my fault, Lieutenant, is that what you're saying?"

"Well," he drawled, "you were two hours late."

Nan narrowed her eyes and responded with a hiss of playful anger, "I'm human; I made a mistake. What's your excuse for having been such a rude, pompous _git_ when I got there?"

The rotund older man next to them suddenly laughed in unabashed appreciation, not caring that he had been caught eavesdropping. "Too right, love," he chuckled. "You tell him. Give 'im what for."

Nan and Jimmy turned to the man and burst into laughter just as the train screeched to a halt at the Covent Garden station. The man waved cheerfully to them as they disembarked hand in hand.

"Guess we got a bit out of hand back there," commented Nan.

"When do we not?" Jimmy smirked.

They emerged into a Covent Garden bursting with people and energy. The gorgeous weather seemed to have brought out every inhabitant of London, and they all seemed to be congregating in one small area. The noise level was unbelievable, the crowds thick with men and women of every conceivable age and race. Buskers littered the streets, playing everything from violins and guitars to harps and tambourines. One group was performing an abridged version of 'Romeo and Juliet,' the four men and two women rushing madly about, changing costumes and accents as they melded one role into another. On the opposite corner a Peruvian band played their native instruments, the low, almost hollow sound of the wooden flutes rising beautifully above the crowds. Further on down the street an Aborigine, his hair matted and white, his face careworn, sat on the ground, an enormous wooden didgeridoo laying before him as he argued candidly with a Scotsman over who was invading whose turf.

"God, I love this city," remarked Jimmy, startling Nan with his fervour.

Nan smiled. She had grown used to this; Jimmy was completely enamoured of London, and was given to sudden bouts of vocal appreciation whenever the moment overtook him. He was as likely to burst into spasms of delight over the incredible mixture of smells in the air-the fog, the spicy Indian foods, the sea breeze-as he was over the fact that the barmaid down at their local pub knew him by name and never failed to greet him cheerfully. He by no means thought London to be perfect, and had his moments of complaint like anyone else, but his new home was firmly embedded in his heart. He had taken to it like a true Londoner.

They walked on toward the restaurant, and when they passed Nigel Atherton's pawnbroker's, now empty and desolate with a faded 'To Sell' sign in its window, neither of them gave it a second glance. But Nan's hand squeezed Jimmy's just a little bit tighter all the way to the restaurant.

The waitress escorted them back to the room that had been reserved for the officers. It was already half-full, appetisers on the table, laughter ringing from wall to wall. Nan and Jimmy's entrance made a small sensation.

"Well, if it isn't love's young dream," Iain Langley remarked with a wink.

"And love's other young dream right on their heels," laughed Ike as Kid and Lou came in, struggling with their suitcases and carry-on bags.

Within moments everyone had arrived and seated themselves at the enormous table. Teaspoon made a point of closing the door so that their boisterous party wouldn't disturb the restaurant's other clientele.

Lunch was ordered and for the next couple of hours the officers ate, drank, talked, and laughed. No one mentioned work-they were currently assigned in Shepherd's Bush following a drug trafficking ring-and talk focused instead on inconsequentials: the weather, what had been on telly last night, the funny remarks Langley's youngest daughter had made about the state of her father's moustache.

Gradually, though, everyone quieted. Glasses were drained dry, plates finally emptied, and conversation died away. They all seemed to be waiting for something, although they weren't sure what. The moment Teaspoon rose with his glass in his hand, however, they knew exactly what it was.

Teaspoon waited till all eyes were on him, flashing them his patented, crooked smile. He bestowed Rachel with a special wink before speaking. "I'd just like to take this opportunity," he said, "to say thank you to all you wonderful people for your hospitality to my officers and me these past six months. I sure didn't know what to expect when I flew over here, and I was...what's that expression you use here?…'dead chuffed,'" he supplied to everyone's amusement, "to find the nicest group of people we could ever have hoped to work with. So cheers to all of you."

"That's a first," Buck whispered to Ike. "I've never known Teaspoon to finish a speech in less time than it took to eat the meal."

"I heard that, Cross," growled Teaspoon. "Don't forget who you'll be sitting next to on that plane for over six hours."

Everyone laughed.

"And on that note," Rachel reminded him, "we'd better call a taxi now if we want to get to the airport on time."

"Not quite on that note, Rachel," Sam said, reaching behind him for a large bag decorated with a balloon print and overflowing with colourful tissue paper. He handed it to Teaspoon. "From all of us," he said, "to all of you."

Kid, Cody, Buck, and Lou huddled around Teaspoon as he withdrew the card and opened it, reading it with a laugh, glancing over each inscription from the officers who had signed it. Then he removed the object inside the bag, a large, old-fashioned wooden frame, beautifully carved and ornate, with a huge red ribbon around it. Bewildered, Teaspoon slid the ribbon down from around the frame.

And stared at it.

The officers behind him stared at it, too.

There, in all his 8-by-10 inch glory, in full colour, every black hair in place, the familiar sneer in order, was Julian Westward standing in the station, his face blackened by Jimmy's fists, prison number held in front of him as he glared defiantly at the camera. His mugshot.

The card was inscribed, in Emma's handwriting-_'So you don't forget what we accomplished as a team, a pretty picture for the NYPD. With thanks, from AMIT.'_

The room was silent. Kid, Cody, Lou, and Buck struggled to hold back their laughter. They all sneaked looks at Nan, well aware of her sensitivity on the subject of Julian Westward. Teaspoon marvelled for the hundredth time at this bizarre humour that seemed to carry the British through everything. He tried not to smile, and looked at Nan, too, gauging her reaction.

But she only grinned at them and winked. "Like the frame?" she asked cheekily. "I picked it out myself. I think it complements his eyes very well."

And then the room exploded into laughter once more.

* * *

_H_eathrow Airport was its usual manically busy self. Nasal voices echoed on the intercom, people rushed through the miles of halls to their planes. The air smelled stale and heavy with food and perfume.

The officers stood in a small group outside the security area: Kid, Cody, Buck, Lou, Jimmy, Ike, Nan, and Noah. The people around them pushed hastily past. Only passengers were allowed beyond the security gates.

Nan was holding on tightly to Kid, her hands cold and clammy. Lou had her arm looped through Jimmy's, eyes cast to the floor. No one was saying anything.

"Well," Cody began uncomfortably. "I guess this is it."

"Yeah," agreed Ike, "this is it."

They each dared to meet each other's eyes. Memories ran through them like electrical shocks, clusters of moments gathering in their minds, the inevitable outcome of working so closely together for so many months. No one knew just what to say. Should they pour out the thoughts they were now besieged with? Should they make do with a meaningful look and a hug?

"Kids?" ventured Teaspoon as he and Rachel joined them again, Styrofoam mugs of tea in their hands. "We should be going. Our flight boards in about thirty minutes."

In the end, they settled for somewhere in between. When there were words to be spoken, they did not hesitate to say them; and where a smile would do just as well, it was a smile that was given. And the hugs seemed to say it all.

"We'll keep in touch," Buck said, and then he smiled at Ike, waving his hand and disappearing through the doors.

"Don't forget me, now." With a wink, Cody was gone too.

Rachel gave each of them one last kiss and a lingering, affectionate look, before joining the two young men in security.

Teaspoon, at a loss for words, simply sighed and patted Ike and Noah on the face, in a gesture reminiscent of a father. He kissed Nan and hugged Jimmy hard, one last time. He said nothing as he vanished, finding no words adequate enough to relay his feelings.

"We should go," Ike said to Noah as they found themselves alone with Kid, Lou, Jimmy, and Nan. The air was suddenly heavy with emotion. He glanced at his watch. "We've got to be at that place."

"Right," Noah agreed, catching on. "That place we've gotta be."

"In Piccadilly," Ike said, at the same time Noah added, "In Russell Square."

They glanced at each other.

"Anyway, we've got to go," said Ike.

Lou and Nan watched them with amusement. With final goodbyes, Ike and Noah were gone, and the four were left alone.

Kid consulted the clock overhead. "We've really got to go, Lou. We've got less than twenty minutes, and you don't know Heathrow like I do. It's a flipping madhouse; we could be walking for miles before we ever get to our plane."

"Okay," whispered Lou. She fixed her brown eyes on Jimmy and reached for him again, hugging him with much more force than her tiny stature seemed to possess. "I'll miss you," she murmured. "So much, Jimmy. But I know you're happy here."

"And I know you'll be happy in New York with Kid." Jimmy drew back and brushed his lips across her forehead. "I expect to hear from you every week, Lou. I want to know what's going on in your life."

"It feels strange to think you won't be around to see it," she sniffed.

Jimmy smiled. "Not to worry, Lou. We'll be seeing each other again."

A few feet away, Kid and Nan were trading barbs, just as they had for years and just as they always would.

"Can I hug you?" asked Kid with a mock-sceptical smile. "Or do I dare in front of the great Mr Hickok?"

"The real question," retorted Nan, "is whether or not I _want_ your spindly arms round me, Kidwell."

"Ah, go on. Of course you do," he laughed, and pulled her into an embrace. He bestowed her with a hearty kiss and said, "Take care of yourself, Nan, and for God's sake, let Jimmy take care of you, as well."

"_Very_ funny." Kid and Lou went to each other then, picking up the bags that lay at their feet, slipping their arms around one another's waists. Kid and Jimmy reached out for one final handshake.

"Take care of her, Jimmy."

"If she'll let me. You do the same, Kid."

"If she'll let me," he agreed.

Nan and Lou shared a roll of the eyes.

"Write me," Nan said to her friend, "and call me. Tell me all about...you know." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Absolutely," winked Kid. "We'll see you again," he said as he and Lou made their way toward the doors. "We'll be back to visit, I know we will."

When they got to the doors, Kid and Lou stopped and turned around. They waved together, one last time, Lou blinking back tears, and then they were gone, leaving Jimmy and Nan standing alone.

After months of build-up, it was all over. Just like that.

Jimmy hugged Nan against his side and kissed the top of her head, thinking of the past six months and how life changed with every breath that was taken, every path that was chosen. He knew that falling in love with Nan Kenworthy was the best path he had ever walked down and he couldn't wait to see where it led him.

Nan was smiling faintly to herself, as if at some pleasant memory.

"Ready to go home?" he asked.

She turned to him, her beautiful blue eyes at level with his. "Yeah, let's go home."

And then they turned together, arms around one another, and walked out of the airport, past the harried travellers and tearful families, through the automatic doors that led them back outside; back onto the busy, bustling, exhilarating streets of London.

THE END

**© 2000, 2007, 2013**

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_Author's note: _If anyone's at all interested, I did a bit of casting for my characters back in the day, for funsies. Here's who I had in mind (though, you are, of course, free to see whoever you wish).

**DI Anna "Nan" Kenworthy**...Claire Forlani

**Julian Westward**...Timothy Dalton

**Will Kenworthy**...Derek Jacobi

**Jamie Kenworthy**...Peter O'Toole

**Paul "Paulie" Kenworthy**...Jack Ryder

**Victoria Westward**...Cameron Diaz

**DCS Seth Alcott**...Alan Rickman

**DI Iain Langley**...Kenneth Branagh

**DS Pete Binchy**...Steven Mackintosh

**Geoff Devanney**...Jack Davenport

**Rhees Carter...**Robbie Coltrane

**Drucilla "Dru" Garrison**...Gwyneth Paltrow

**DC Jason Albarn**...Jason Flemyng

**DS Roddy O'Hara**...Aiden Gillen

**DC Alan Emerson**...Christopher Eccleston


End file.
